Captured
by shaemichelle
Summary: Despite torturous captivity, training, and the challenge of sharing a bed, Harry's biggest concern is a vision naming hits on his best friends. When Death Eaters show up, things might turn a bit skewed. Unless Harry can save them all... over 1500 hits!
1. Chapter 1: Taken

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it's belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)

"Don't return until past eight, boy, if you ruin another of our dinner parties—" Petunia Dursley snapped as she shoved her nephew out the back door.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," he said with a sigh as he left the yard, rubbing the back of his head. He'd forgotten that wooden spoons hurt so much.

The boy rounded the corner of Privet Drive, his slender hands shoved into the pockets of his overlarge jeans, his jet black hair spilling over his forehead.

Despite the bits that fell into his unusually green eyes, he did not brush it away, because his hair partially covered the lighting shaped scar that stood out scarlet on his fair forehead, above his left eye, marking him as the Boy-Who-Lived, the Forth Champion, the Chosen One, or, as he thought of himself, just plain Harry Potter.

If you looked at the set of Harry's face and the stance of his thin body, you would guess nothing wide of the mark; he was a bit bored, perhaps. You would know easily he was only sixteen.

If you looked into his eyes, however, you would struggle to find an age to fit the chaotic, tormented, disturbingly green eyes. You would also see them watching the shadows, bushes and manicured lawns of Little Whinging for movements of the Order members, who were tailing him tonight.

Harry relaxed as he spotted the twins, Fred and George Weasley, and another he didn't recognize following him discreetly in the shadows. There wouldn't be any surprises while the twins had his back. Even without the third guard, they had enough tricks between Harry and the twins to take on any attackers long enough to get to safety.

Harry neared the small play park on Wisteria Walk and he went into it, sitting on a swing not yet broken by his cousin Dudley's gang. He kicked at the muddy ground, swinging lightly. He saw Fred and George settle in some bushes across the road from him.

Harry was depressed, despite the start of summer hols, for a number of reasons.

For one, the weather had been nasty. Most people disliked rain, but Harry's uncle found it downright annoying. He took out his annoyance on Harry. He had the bruises to confirm. Harry also missed his friends, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

He missed Ginny possibly the most. Ginny, his girlfriend since Christmas, had written numerous letters, and Harry tried his best to write back. Locked in his room, he didn't have any writing supplies; his aunt and uncle were trying to drive him insane with isolation. Ginny realized this as he tried to write with the small pencil he had from under his bed, and sent him a care package with everything he needed, plus food and some baked goodies from Mrs Weasley. She even promised him she'd try to visit through Mrs Fig's, a neighbour on Wisteria Walk, Floo.

Harry would be turning seventeen soon, an adult in the wizarding world. He was going to Hogwarts for his final year of education, and his final year of training. He felt he might not finish the year; something had changed in the air. The final fight with Voldemort, the final fight against his armies, would happen soon, deciding his fate, and whether he lived or died. His fate and the fate of the world, wizard and Muggle alike would be determined. Determined and hopefully lifted from his shoulders. If he lived long enough to have it lifted, that is.

The sky darkened at a much slower rate than Harry's thoughts. Harry glanced at his watch, and saw it was nearly eight o'clock. He rose, wondering if it was worth the beating he'd get to disrupt the party at his family's home with a Muggle "magic" trick Fred taught him at Hogwarts. He began the walk home, debating trading bruises for the look on Dudley's face.

Harry was about to round the corner of Privet Drive as a hand covered his mouth, stifling his cry of surprise. He pulled his wand out, and a navy-gloved hand broke it while it was in his grasp.

He threw the now-useless piece of wood aside, pulling on the strong, immovable arm in effort to both scream and breathe. Harry was pulled by his attacker into a clump of bushes, where the horrible sensation of Apparating overtook him.

He was thrown to the ground by his attacker, and his wrists scraped the rough stones of the floor.

Ignoring the sting of the grazes, Harry flipped himself onto his back, pushing himself away from the man looking down at him.

With the sunken cheeks, hollow, deadened eyes and the raspy breath, Harry could tell this was a man who had escaped from Azkaban. He had seen that face before…

i In the /i Daily Prophet, he realized. _ i This is Bellatrix's husband, one of the Lestranges /i ._ His mind flashed on Neville's demented parents, and he regarded the wand pointed at his head with a new form of caution.

Harry hated being in bad situations, although, one had to admit, he had a loose idea of a bad situation. But as he noted his lack of a wand, and as Death Eaters, by their robes and masks, began filing in behind them, and Voldemort began a speech; Harry had to acknowledge, this was a very bad situation.

If Fred and George hadn't been killed, and Harry prayed they hadn't, it could be hours for the relief guard to find the identical bodies. If they were just unconscious, Stunned, then perhaps there was a chance they had seen Lestrange… Maybe the twins could catch the trail.

"Lestrange, I see you have not killed him yet." Voldemort sounded impressed as the man sank back into the crowd of black around him. "Unmask yourselves, my pets," he ordered. Harry stood, but kept his back to the wall as the upwards-of-two-dozen removed bone-white death masks.

Harry recognized a few from the graveyard, where Voldemort captured him in fourth year. He had had a wand then. There were a few young faces, faces young enough for Harry to know them from Hogwarts.

"Little Potter won't be carrying any names or faces back to his friends. A man in pieces carries little, don't you agree?" Laughter shook the semi-circle around Harry. "Yes, we will have our fun. Has he a wand?" Voldemort asked, looking to Lestrange.

"I broke it before I took him," he said in a rusty voice. Bellatrix raised her head with pride for her husband as Voldemort turned towards Harry once more.

''Draco," Voldemort beckoned. The blonde youth, scarcely older than Harry, stepped forward, his sleeves pulled back, to reveal, with obvious pride, the Dark Mark branded into his skin.

"You've learned use of Unforgivables, but have had little practice. Let's see, the Killing Curse would kill him, and that will be forced upon Potter by I, and I alone. The Imperious would be no fun here, so. Hmm. What's left, Draco?" Malfoy smiled and pointed his wand at Harry.

"Crucio."


	2. Chapter 2: Found

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it's belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)

Ron smirked as Ginny bit at the quick of her nails, surveying the chessboard in front of them. Her king was just about surrounded, she only had one option, but she couldn't find it. She looked at him, almost as if she wanted guidance, not that she'd admit it, but when he laughed, she turned back to the board.

"Honestly," cried the king, in a deep, scratchy voice. "I may as well lay down my blade now, lady knight," he growled at Ginny. "You sent my wife, the queen, to her bereavement, and now you—"

"Oh, shut up!" Ginny snapped. "Everyone knows Ron continually wins. Don't act so bloody astonished."

"Watch your language," Mrs Weasley called from the kitchen. "Dinner's almost ready, hurry up and let Ron win." Ginny arranged her tiny face in a set of fury as Mrs Weasley told her to not finish the game, but just lose already.

Bill came in the house, back from work at Gringotts, and seeing a game, came and sat next to his sister. He needled Ginny, suggesting ridiculous moves, and even inventing ones. She became more and more frustrated, Ron worried she might fetch her wand and hex the lot of them soon.

She moved her king, her king protested, and Ron won the game. He laughed and said, "Ginny, you lost. Again. That makes me the invincible champion of the world!" Bill made mordant bows to him, humouring Ron in successful effort to infuriate Ginny.

Ginny glowered and grumbled. "If I wasn't underage…"

"But you are, Ginny," Mrs Weasley declared from the kitchen sternly. "You leave your brothers alone, and come help me with the table."

"I'm talking with this lot!" she protested. A warning look from Mrs Weasley at the kitchen door persuaded her to get up and leave, albeit in a bit of a huff.

"Play another round, squires," cried a white pawn. "We've not earned our respite, one more skirmish!"

"I don't think they've time, mangy," said a black knight, who was replacing his horse's leg. "Besides, what knight would challenge another with you as defender?"

"That's an affront to my honour, Sir! I challenge you to a swordfight before the gods of combat!"

Ron would have been comfortable to eavesdrop on the arguing chess pieces, but a burst of heat from the Floo interrupted his contented listening. His mother rounded the doorway to see who decided to visit, while Hestia Jones burst in.

"Harry's been taken, he's gone!" she cried.

"What?" said a shocked Mrs Weasley. Ron noted how Ginny turned a nasty greyish colour behind his mother, grabbing the door for support. "How could he have been? Fred and George were meant to watch him tonight!" Hestia shrugged helplessly.

"They're at Mrs. Fig's, Poppy's looking them over. They'll be alright, Molly. A Memory Charm left them a little loopy, that's all. But Harry's going to be worse than loopy when we get him back." Hestia, a pale witch with nondescript features and an impossible-to-describe personality, looked down as she pulled out something from her pocket. A piece of wood, snapped into—Ron saw Ginny fall over.

"Ginny?" cried Mrs. Weasley in worry for her youngest, spinning to face her.

"That's his wand!" she cried, silent tears running down her ashen face. "Harry… my Harry…"

Bill Weasley waited. He'd been waiting for a while now. Personally, in this position, three hours. With his family, or in another guard post, nineteen days.

It had been nineteen days since Harry, his brother's best friend, and his sister's boyfriend, went missing. It had—

Boyfriend and girlfriend wasn't a strong enough choice of phrasing when it came to those two, Harry and Ginny. But then, he bet destiny or providence would sound a bit like crap if he used it to describe them in real life. Maybe fiancées one day, but for now, girlfriend and boyfriend would have to do.

Bill had seen Harry's room on Privet Drive, and begun to wonder what the deal was there. His aunt and uncle hadn't noticed he was gone, and Bill talked to them the morning after Harry disappeared. While the aunt, Tulip or Petunia or something floral, had seemed like a person with a disorder that caused her to sterilize everything from counters to anything Bill touched, the uncle seemed like someone who…

Someone who liked to kick kittens, or burn ants. Bill wondered, with the bedroom filled with broken furniture and locks on the door, if Harry was a kitten Vernon Dursley kicked. Or maybe he was just imagining things because of the thick heat.

Stupid Invisibility Cloak. It was too hot, too sticky, for this outfit. Bill wished Professor Albus Dumbledore felt a Disillusionment Charm would suffice for him. But Charms left imprints on the magical-atmospheric pressures (whatever those were), and could be sensed more easily by powerful wizards or witches. Whatever.

Which is why, Albus said, the unknown Death Eater had used, and abandoned, a Cloak before taking Harry. Harry, Albus said, was powerful enough to sense a Disillusionment Charm, and powerful enough that he might be able to escape, even without a wand.

Nineteen days ago, Bill might have believed that. But as he watched the play park on Wisteria Walk, empty of children now, in front of him, he began to doubt it.

He didn't think anyone survived nineteen days with You-Know-Who without a wand.

Not even Harry. Maybe—

But Bill's boredom-inspired pondering had been interrupted by the appearance of three dark figures with a pop of Apparition, silhouetted against the setting sun. The two dark figures dropped the third, who then, or maybe it then, fell to the ground beneath a tree with a thud.

"What do I do with the note?" asked one in a thick, deep voice.

"Who cares? Just drop it on top of him, somebody'll find the body. Be spot on if it was his little girlfriend, wouldn't it?" mused a sharp, soprano voice of a younger woman.

"Let's go, before we're caught." The exchanges took all of ten seconds, just long enough to allow the figures to Disapparate without the third, before Bill could free his wand from his back pocket. Maybe Mad-eye had a point about keeping wands there. If not for fear for his buttocks, Bill regretted being slow on the draw.

He raced across the street, Cloak left in the guards' bush, stopped momentarily by a passing car. He dived to his knees next to the third figure; his heart already hoping it was Harry.

He brushed black, crusty hair out of the kid's eyes. The thin face was familiar, but a cracked, dark red, not the white that belonged to Harry. But when Bill's hand brushed the red skin, it flaked, leaving a coppery smell in the air, and revealing bruises beneath.

Dried blood. Blood that covered every inch of the poor boy, a boy Bill was convinced was Harry. He had to Apparate home.

"Don't worry, kiddo," Bill whispered as he gathered Harry into his arms, "I'll getcha home to Ginny."


	3. Chapter 3: Awaken

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it's belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)

It had been three days. Ginny sat next to Harry's bed, pondering the past Thursday. Bill had appeared with an unconscious, inanimate, and not-breathing Harry. Madame Pomfrey, there checking on the now-fine twins, had saved his life, and even with her on hand, it was close. But his heart was steady, if not strong.

But now, clean, breathing and wearing a pair of Ron's pyjamas, but covered in bruises and with his scar a disgustingly flamboyant red, she was more scared than when he was missing. He had to come round.

Madame Pomfrey, who was staying over until Harry proved to be stable, said he had woken up in the night, while Ginny slept two floors above him, and she had given him a Dreamless Sleep Potion. It worried Ginny that she hadn't been there to see him. She needed him to wake up, and tell her he was OK. To tell her she was OK.

"Ginny," her mother called from the doorway to the kitchen, across the room from the couch Harry lay on now. "Come eat, dinner's ready." She nodded to her mother, and rose, reluctantly. She bent, compromising with her internal conflict over leaving him, and kissed Harry's forehead gently.

"I'll be back," she promised him. She felt momentarily silly, speaking to Harry, who was in a drug-induced sleep and clearly couldn't hear her.

She sat at her seat in the table across from the door, after removing the unknown cushion Fred and George had put there. George groaned, but she then placed the cushion on Ron's still vacant chair. Fred grinned at her, and she grinned back.

Ron sat down in his chair, still absorbed in his Chudley Cannons book. The cushion did nothing, and Fred and George looked at each other and shrugged. Sometimes Ginny thought those two shared a mind, they never talked strictly to each other, but only to those around them, or to each other in way of mocking a member of their "illustrious" company.

"Ronald, put that book down, it's dinner time, and we need to spend it as a family," Mum scolded as she placed a bowl of rolls on the table.

"Dad's not even here yet. Besides Bill, Charlie, and Percy aren't coming so—" Ron was interrupted by Fred and George's cushion, a delayed effect.

As Ron jumped up with a yelp, dancing away from the cushion with teeth, Fred said, "Yep, it works."

"Of course it does. We are the Kings of Invention and Deception. Isn't it supposed to stop trying to eat you, though?" George said in worried voice. His eyes shone with mischief, and Mum noticed he wasn't genuinely apologetic.

"You two! This is hardly appropriate dinner behaviour! You have to grow up and stop pranking everything that moves!" she shouted, her anger making Ginny quail though it wasn't directed towards her.

"We don't prank you!" protested Fred.

"Which is wise," her mother said in a tone that caused even the twins to shirk away. Ron had stomped on the cushion, and was telling the twins to call it off.

Ginny didn't see the rest of the exchange, because Harry had appeared in the doorway. She must have screamed his name, because his head snapped over to blink at her confusedly. His face lit up a moment later.

He has no glasses, she realized as she leapt into his arms. She felt his smile as he kissed her neck.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, low enough that only she could hear. The kitchen was silent behind them. "I never want to leave you without a proper goodbye." He released her and Ron came up to clap his friend of the shoulder.

"Alright, mate?"

"Always am, aren't I, Ron?" he answered, squinting a bit in effort to see everyone clearly. Mum turned to a small cupboard above the breadbox. She pulled out a pair of glasses identical to Harry's old ones.

Now, Ginny thought, it really is a family dinner. We have Harry.

A/n: OK, sorry you waited so long for just that, not even seven hundred words, but I had an Independent Study to do, an oral com., and a midterm. Pretty lame excuses but... I'm sorry! It may be a while before this goes anywhere, my foremost attention is on my new story, a Twilight one, Bella's Change which you can check out when it goes up (I'll let you know). Anyway... Read and review: the reviewers from A Daddy for Him made my day!


	4. Chapter 4: Trusting

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it's belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)

"Voldemort thinks I'm dead."

Ginny froze, and Harry looked up at her from his position with his head in her lap. They were out near the paddock, resting under a tree together, nearly a week after he woke up. They hadn't been talking, just sitting in amiable silence, Ginny running her fingers through his too-long hair. Now she stared at him, his fingers stagnant, an uncomprehending look on her face.

"He said, when he first… the first day, he said he'd be sending my body back to you in… in pieces. Ron said when I came back after Bill found me, he said I wasn't breathing… so Voldemort thinks I'm dead, he thinks he's won," Harry said slowly, in the soft tone he always spoke in these days. It had only been a week after he woke up, but he seemed unable to tell anyone about that fact, it would get stuck and not come out. While thinking of Voldemort, flashbacks would begin to rise behind his eyes, blocking his mind with a blind, unfocused panic.

"I don't know who to tell, Gin. I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Ginny resumed running her fingers through his hair; he knew she was trying to calm his now-trembling breath. "Let me be in charge for a while, Harry. You just trust me."

"I do trust you," he whispered, shutting his eyes.

"How much do you trust me?" she asked. He wrapped his arm around her lower back, enjoying this closeness. Ginny had a way of talking about the hard things, while making them seem like something that wasn't hard. She made it easy.

"Too much. More than I should trust anybody, really." Harry knew that Ginny was on of the four people he trusted, and he wasn't sure how the number had gotten so big. He had decided, long ago, it was too risky to completely trust someone. Now, when Voldemort or the Dursleys decided to find a way to take the good in his life away, the memories he had of Ginny, Ron and Hermione would leave an invisible, bleeding hole in his heart. He didn't want that hole, just sewn up from when Sirius died, to tear open and bleed again, it was painful.

"What keeps you up at night? What gives you nightmares?" she asked, and he concentrated on her gentle voice, not her words, not so much. And flashbacks, he thought, remembering how he would stare into space frequently, when a certain word was said, or a movement made, recalling, vividly, his… experience with the Death Eaters.

He paused, and she seemed to think he didn't want to get into that just yet. "I'm sorry, you don't have to—"

"No, Gin, it's fine." He tried to answer her, and found he needed to swallow to regain use of his voice. "The nightmares… they're memories of the past… I dunno, they're… painful, to remember and to relive. I don't think it's really possible to explain…" he said musingly, and she knew, somehow, to wait, that he wasn't concluding his thought yet, wasn't finished talking. Despite the subject, the ease of the conversation, and the soothing warmth of Ginny had him feeling the exhaustion he knew was there.

"The nightmares aren't normal; they take your worries of the day… The dream adapts as you do, but it doesn't fade, it just changes. if something happens, or a drastic change takes place, they intensify. I've had them as long as I can remember, but now... They make it impossible to move on," he said, opening his eyes to look at her. She stiffened and looked away from his gaze, the first time she'd done so that day. He waited, knowing she needed to interrupt.

"It was like that with me, when Tom… my first year," she concluded. He reached over with his bad hand, his other still on her waist, and took hers from his hair. He kissed it gently, enjoying the flutter in his abdomen, and smiled as she did.

"We fit well together," he murmured. "We've got matching scars." He must have fallen asleep then, because the next thing he knew, it was morning.

After the initial confusion of wondering where the field went, Harry sat up and reached for his glasses on the bedside table in Ron's room.

"Slept through the night, that's a first," Ron remarked quietly, from his own bed.

"Yeah, well, thanks. Good morning to you, too," he said dryly, side-stepping the comment subtly. He really didn't want to discuss with Ron the nightmare-free sleep. Even if it shocked him as much as it did Ron.

"Any plans for the day?" Harry asked, sitting up and reaching for the clothes Bill had fetched from the Dursleys for him.

"Well, besides it being your birthday, no, but Mum says Dumbledore's coming over again, and Dad said—when I wasn't there, but was listening in with an Ear—he, Dad, said that he, Dumbledore, needed to talk to you about the prophecy. You reckon they found another copy of the one from the Department of Mysteries?"

Harry looked away, unsure of what to do. Maybe her should ask Professor Dumbledore about what to tell Ron and Hermione. And Ginny, he realized, she, of all of them, needs to know what loving me could mean for her.

Not that I love her, or she me, but you know… Bases covered and all that.

A/N: OK, so it's better than the last update. Not stellar, but better. Sorry, I've been dealing with my little brother, he's been puking up a lung (an expression, don't freak out), and therefore I've been using straight bleach to clean toilets lately. Anyway, all I could write about was vomit (I had a reference to the nightmares making Harry vomit, but it was kind of gross, so I took it out). Alrighty... So please R&R, and offer ideas for anything in your reviews, I can use it for fodder, and of course, you'll get credit for your idea if I use it. Wow, anymore and this A/N will be longer than the chapter!


	5. Chapter 5: Worries

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it's belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)

"Harry."

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Harry said, standing to greet his headmaster. The odd, old, yet animated, professor crossed the attic bedroom in the Burrow that Ron and Harry shared. Harry was here, not hiding, unaccompanied in attempt to escape the birthday greetings and pranks from the twins ("We're letting you test our new products!" Fred insisted, "It's our gift!"); but in the appearance of Professor Dumbledore, he knew his efforts were futile.

"Sit, Harry. I have been told some things by Ginevra Weasley," he began, standing in front of Harry, who was sitting on the patchwork quilt on the cot the Weasley's loaned him.

"What things?"

"Voldemort believes he's won the war?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, looking down. Would Professor Dumbledore be angry that he'd told Ginny, and not his teacher? Or would he understand that there was just something about Ginny that made him able to tell her stuff like that?

"What do you propose we do? It's your war to be won, after all."

Harry thought for a moment before answering. Besides this being the first time Professor Dumbledore ever asked Harry's opinion, he was shocked the Professor thought it was his war. He glanced to the door; uneasy with a feeling as if someone was there, listening.

"I should learn how to duel, how to master the spells that can beat him. A trip or two to Diagon Alley to show the public I'm not dead couldn't hurt either. Just a few short trips, so that the rumours of my death are contradicted. It would panic Voldemort, if nothing else."

Harry watched Professor Dumbledore intently for a moment. He stared off out the window, and seemed to be thinking quite hard.

"What sort of spells do you have in mind?" he asked, his silver brow furrowing.

"I'm not sure really," said Harry after a moment. "I can't use an Unforgivable, it wouldn't work. So—" Professor Dumbledore interrupted him.

"Do you mean it wouldn't work on him, or wouldn't work for you? Or do have a theory about the prophecy?"

"I have a theory about the prophecy, but that's not it… The Killing Curse didn't work on him when it ricocheted off me, right? So, it makes sense that he's resistant to them, like I am. Besides, to work the Curse, you need to want to kill for the sake of killing, hurt for the sake of hurting; righteous anger or… or the desire to stop him won't get me far. Not with those curses."

"No, neither of those emotions would help with the more hateful of curses."

"Right, so I thought, if spells can be designed around hate and contempt, can't a spell, like a Patronus, based on love, go after it's opposite?" Harry glanced at the door again, the odd feeling intensifying. "I mean, a Patronus is your happy memories, and it banishes Dementors. Why not a spell that can use love to… destroy Voldemort? I've seen his mind, it can't tolerate love, and it's been warped to the point where he's… he's…"

"A mono-dimensional monster free of a normal personality and incapable of human emotions like guilt or fear?" Professor Dumbledore suggested, sounding pleased. What is he pleased about? Harry wondered. We're talking about how to kill a man and he sounds thrilled.

"Yeah. He probably understood love to a point when he was a kid, but… Not anymore."

"A Patronus-like charm… It sounds feasible, Harry. Might I ask however, when you were in his mind?"

"Well, my fifth year, when he… possessed me. At the time, all I could think of was how much it hurt, and how he could see everything that I had ever thought… But I could see his mind too. It works both ways."

"A Patronus-like charm… I'll look into it, see what I can find." The professor began to leave. He stopped abruptly, and turned to face his student.

"And Harry?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Have a happy birthday. I believe Miss Weasley is looking for you." When Professor Dumbledore opened the door, Ginny stood there, slightly red in the face.

"Um, I just came to… Harry?" she said, bumbling in a fashion Harry was unused to with her. She usually was so poised, even when losing her temper, to see her flustered…

After Professor Dumbledore left, he looked up at her, and saw she was still red in the face, and was looking down in a meek fashion unaccustomed on her.

"How much did you hear?" he asked her. She met his gaze apologetically.

"From the Diagon Alley plan on. I'm sorry; I shouldn't've pried, but… I'm so worried about you. I still don't what's going on, Harry." He thought for a moment, and then patted the bed beside him.

"What do you want to know?" he asked her as she sat, enveloping him in a hug. He had never really been touched, not hit, as a child, even after he began Hogwarts; Mrs Weasley had been the first to hug him. Ginny was the first person really to touch him, and the first he wanted to touch. It was an odd sentiment.

"You don't have to—"

"If you want to know something, I should tell you. You shouldn't have to sneak around for answers. Ask."

"He… Tom, I mean, he possessed you?"

"At the Ministry, yeah. It was just after Bell killed, Bellatrix Lestrange, after she killed Sirius."

"And it hurt?" she asked, pulling back enough to look into his face. "Why didn't you tell us about it?"

"I was… I didn't want to tell you guys. What if you had to be careful of me because I was a link to him? What if you felt you couldn't be friends with me because he was inside my head?"

"Well, it was stupid of you to think I would dare to feel that way! Tom possessed me too!" That sent shivers reeling through Harry. Ginny! Had she been able to see his mind? Had it been excruciatingly painful for her? How had he not thought to ask her?

"I'd forgotten," he whispered apologetically.

"Makes one of us," she said with a hint of bitterness in her voice, looking away. "I can't forget."

"I can help you there," he whispered into her ear, cupping her face with his still-bandaged hand, kissing her when she faced him. They lay back on the bed, worries floating away for a little while.

A/N: OK, score. Sorry about the wait, but I'm going to try to even the update period out. I'm going to start trying for every Wed. a new chapter. Sound splendid? Alright, I gotta get to school in Hope, so TTNF! (you know, with Tigger? TaTaForNow?)


	6. Chapter 6: Age

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it's belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)

Molly Weasley watched her sons and daughter as they surrounded Harry with gifts. Harry, still too thin, tried to downplay the importance of his coming of age. Still too thin. Arthur said earlier that if the boy turned sideways, he'd disappear.

Ginny finally got him to quit complaining. It wasn't an ingenious plan, but it hadn't worked when Ron attempted it.

"Quit complaining and open your gifts, Harry," she ordered, placing her finger over his protesting mouth as they sat side-by-side on the faded red couch. "If you don't do it, I just might." Harry ducked his head, and Molly could see the blush creeping up beneath his smile.

"Yes, ma'am," he smiled, taking her hand away in his. Fred and George, across from Harry in the sitting room, swayed back and forth and began to hum the tune of a rather risqué ballad the boys had sung Harry earlier this morning, causing Harry's blush to deepen.

Molly pointed her finger at the twins before Ginny could, saying, "You both leave him alone. It's his birthday; he doesn't need you two needling him constantly."

"It's alright, Mrs. Weasley. I don't mind," Harry said softly, facing her, and the husband behind her, with a small smile, as Ron chucked a small box at him. Harry caught it left-handed, not turning his head towards the flying object.

"Nice catch," Ginny said as Harry looked at the package in his hand. "Now open your find." He read the tag, _from Molly and Arthur,_ aloud, and then untied the green ribbon.

Molly leaned forward in her rocking chair, anxious to see the reaction Harry gave to the gift. He was opening it slowly; careful not to rip the paper, but Molly knew what was inside.

It was the second-hand golden watch she and Arthur had bought him, the same watch they'd given Ron and his brothers when they'd come of age, the same watch Arthur's parents had given him and his brothers. _What will we do when Ginny turns seventeen?_ Molly wondered idly.

"Wow, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," he said, staring at the gift with wide eyes.

"Well, all of our children received one when it was their seventeenth, and we count you in that," Arthur said, squeezing Molly's shoulder. "We're sorry it's not new. It was Molly's brother's."

"Finish opening your gifts, Harry."

Ron looked at the chessboard and saw three moves that wouldn't put him in danger of being in check, two that could put Harry in check, and one that wouldn't do anything.

Madame Pomfrey was in the kitchen talking with Mum and Dad, after "popping in" to check on Harry's recovery. She said Harry was doing well, but Ron had his doubts. OK, so maybe Harry really was getting better, but he was so skinny and pale. His eyes had monstrous circles beneath them and he wouldn't talk nearly as much as he used to. Not that that was a huge amount.

Harry was surveying the board, a frustrated look on his face. Harry blew at chess, completely hopeless at the game. That said, Harry could outsmart him in almost any class at Hogwarts.

"Make a move!" Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"It's my turn?" Harry asked, looking up. He brushed his hair out of his eyes with his left hand, and Ron followed the hand with his eyes. It was kinda weird that Harry had lost a finger,

"No, I've just been sitting here for five minutes waiting for the other participant in our game to move."

"Sorry," Harry said, turning a faint shade of pink. "I spaced out there, I guess." He looked at the board. "Am I in check?"

"Not yet," Ron sighed, rolling his eyes. "You will be soon." Harry nodded slowly, smiling.

He moved, and Ron nearly laughed. Now Harry was completely screwed.

"Now you're in check," he said, moving. "Check and mate."

"Wow, I'm horrible at chess," Harry said after a moment.

"You are indeed," agreed Ron.

"Don't be mean," chastised Ginny, slapping Ron on the head as she passed. She plopped down on the couch next to Harry. "I was eavesdropping, and I hear that Dumbledore wants to send you back to the Dursleys." A confused expression crossed Harry's face.

"Why?"

"I don't know, but I'll bet Dumbledore does. He's coming over tomorrow, so ask him then."

A/N: Sorry it's so short, I have no excuse. Me and brother are starting a band though, so go for me. Nathan and Tyler are guitaring for us, and Theo, my bro, is on drums, and I have to do vocals. TNT (Ty, Nate and Theo) were waiting for Matt to show up for practice, 'cause he was the original vocalist, but he never came, so I filled in and they bumped Matt back to bass. (Hee hee.) 'Cause I'm just That Awesome.


	7. Chapter 7: Eavesdropping

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it's belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)

"If we send you back to the Dursleys, your family can assist with your recovery," Professor Dumbledore stated firmly. Harry knew he'd grown used to everyone agreeing with him, and he felt odd arguing.

"Professor, if I go to the Dursleys I'll be isolated from what's going on here. I need to be trained to defeat him, being at the Dursleys won't help that." Professor Dumbledore shook his head, his blue eyes resolutely set.

"It will keep you safe, Harry. That's what's most important," he repeated.

"But it's not!" Harry insisted, looking down at the bedspread to hide his unease. The two were in Ron's room again, debating. "Defeating Voldemort is, and coddling me and sending me to safety isn't useful. Sir," he added, not wanting to sound insolent.

"If it protects you—"

"I don't need protection. I need to be trained; I need to know how to use my magic against him, and that's something I can't learn at the Dursleys."

Professor Dumbledore reached up and rubbed his eyes beneath his spectacles. Harry watched his movements and tried to ignore the weird feeling he was getting. He glanced behind him, and knew someone was at the door again. He got up and went to the door.

Ginny and Ron stood there, blushes creeping up on their faces. "It was Ron's idea!" Ginny protested as he shot them an annoyed look. "He said Hermione told him to do it!"

"Well, she did. _You_ don't tell us anything anymore, so what choice did I—" he began, complaining.

"Just come in," said Harry, frustrated.

.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said, grinning, winding his Extendable Ear into a neat loop quickly.

"Ronald, Ginevra, how pleasant to see you, eavesdropping," Professor Dumbledore said amiably.

"Er, pleasant to see you as well, sir," Ginny said, blushing deeper. Ginny sat on the bed Harry vacated, and he leant against a wooden post in Ron's orange room as Ron sat beside his sister. "Why does Harry have to go back to the Dursleys?" she asked, recovering her poise.

"His safety is my primary concern," Professor Dumbledore recurred.

"I wasn't all that safe at the Dursleys, sir," Harry pointed out softly. "If I recall correctly, I was inside the wards when I was kidnapped." He looked out Ron's small window to avoid having to look at anyone while he swallowed the bile that accompanied the flashbacks. He bit the inside of his cheek hard, and the pain helped him focus. He looked back at Professor Dumbledore.

"Be that as it may," he began. Harry wasn't sure what his mouth was doing, it seemed to be talking of its own accord. It was repeating Harry's thoughts, something more forward than Harry had even been.

"Besides, Voldemort—oh, grow up, Ron, stop flinching—he thinks I'm dead, we have the advantage here, for the moment. I'll bet he has guards at the house, to try to see when you'll tell the Dursleys of my death. If I return there, he'll see I'm not dead, and that we're training me."

"Why would he have guards at your house?" Ron asked bemusedly.

"So he can ambush the poor sap told to tell the Dursleys I'm dead. Everyone in the Order has information of a sort. We actually should send someone soon if we want Voldemort in the dark."

All three children turned back to Professor Dumbledore, who had the expression of one who had just had something obvious pointed out to them, but who still didn't want to admit they were wrong.

"So, you'll stay at the Weasleys _for now_," the Headmaster said, rising from Ron's dreadfully orange bed, which clashed horribly with his electric green robes. "But, I'm still going to discuss this with my inner circle, and they will tell me what they think. Remember, Harry—and Ronald and Ginevra, for that matter—that you are still children, and it is the adults you trust who must make decisions."

"And if I don't trust the adults, sir?" asked Harry, still not certain why his mouth kept talking. The more sensible, the much more sensible, part of him was screaming for him to just shut up and save himself from any painful repercussion. This was stupid, if the sensible part of him cared to consider it. Professor Dumbledore had never shown any inclination to violence, nor had any of the other magical adults in Harry's life. Outside of the Dursleys, no one other than Dudley's friends had laid an aggressive hand on him.

Nonetheless, he was ready to duck at any moment.

"I assume you mean Professor Snape?" asked Professor Dumbledore. Upon seeing Harry's nod, he continued. "As I have made clear on a few occasions, and after a few fiascos, I have my reasons to trust him. He will not betray my confidences."

"He might betray mine, sir. You have your reasons to trust him, well-established ones I'm sure. I don't. I understand it's his choice not to elaborate on the matter, but he's been cruel and unfair to me since I met him. I trust him merely because you do, except that's not always good enough."

"I understand, Harry. Remus Lupin, Tonks, Arthur and Molly… these people are my circle as well." When the three made no move to interrupt him, he started for the door. "I would be packed up to go if I were you, just in case."

A/N: Sorry about the wait. It's been a rough couple of weeks for me, but what can you do? Updates remain the same as posted on my profile.


	8. Chapter 8: Conversation

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

"Harry actually made a move to defend himself when Dumbledore was here," Ginny remarked. Harry was at Hogwarts, a forced visit to Madame Pomfrey, who insisted he check in once a week until she deemed him healed. Ron, less tolerant than Harry, wanted his friend to get a clean bill of health so he could play a small game of Quidditch in the backyard's paddock. He was trying to tie a letter, one written by him and Ginny, in deferring inks and cursives, to Hermione onto Pig, his tiny, stupid, hyperactive owl.

"Finally. He was still ready to duck, though, like he thought maybe Dumbledore would throw my Cannons lamp at him or something." Ginny considered this. For some odd reason, she'd noticed the same thing when she and Harry were alone, when they first started dating. She'd reach out to touch him, and he'd flinch back, before blushing and allowing her contact.

"There's a reason for that," she said, watching Ron struggle with the tiny owl, looking rather ridiculous sitting cross-legged on her yellow-flowered bed. _Why didn't we ask to use Hedwig instead?_ Ginny wondered.

"Bugger!" cried Ron. Pig was zooming in circles around his head and he was waving a bloodied finger in pain. "You stupid owl! No biting!"

Pig landed on Ron's head and hooted apologetically. "Yeah, you're sorry now, after I'm angry enough to not give you an owl treat." He snatched Pig off his head and tied the letter to the little owl with surprising gentleness.

"You're not going to feed him?" demanded Ginny indignantly. "That's not—"

"Of course I'm going to feed him, just not treats. Anyway," he sighed, throwing the bird out the window like a Quaffle, "what were you saying?"

"Has Harry ever said anything to you or Mione about his home at the Dursleys?"

"Not really. I know they don't like him, and I think his cousin, Daniel or something beats on him a bit."

"Well, the twins and Bill and Charlie beat on you," she said, trying to gauge the normalcy of it.

"Yeah, but Daniel, no, it's Dudley… Dudley beats the shit—"

"Language, Ron!"

"Whatever. He beats the crap, then, out of Harry every summer. He, Harry, always comes back with a load of bruises on his arms and chest and stuff. He tries to hide it, but since Neville takes a million years to change in the bathroom the rest of us gave up privacy."

"But, shouldn't his aunt and uncle do something about that?" she interrupted, spotting a hole in the net of the story.

"Well, yeah, but you've seen them at the Station when they pick Harry up after school. They don't really… Anyway, Dean and Seamus rag on him a bit 'cause of the bruises, figure he's a wimp or something. They've never seen how fat Dudley is though, he'd be impossible for a shrimp like Harry to defend himself against. When I broke Harry out in second year, I saw that bloke. He's the size of your whole room!" Ginny rolled her eyes to hide her worry.

"Just because my room is small—"

"Just because it used to be a storage closet," Ron interjected, picking himself off Ginny's yellow bed, taking dramatic, mocking three steps to the door, bumping his head on the ceiling in the process. He made a bit of a performance of squeezing through the door that only opened halfway because of a wardrobe in the way.

"Ron!" she called after he began up the stairs to his fourth-floor attic.

"What? I'm not coming back in, the ceiling's too low, and I'll hit my head again."

"It's not my fault you're freakishly tall," she muttered as she exited her room.

"Beg pardon?"

"Does Harry know anything about the prophecy from his fifth year? The one in the Ministry?"

"He mutters about it in his sleep sometimes," Ron supplied lamely.

"He still has nightmares about that night?" she asked, shocked. If nothing else, the kidnapping ought to have overpowered the memory of seeing his godfather fall backward through the Veil, the life slipping from his body, as he toppled, not even leaving a body for them to mourn.

"Not exactly, he's always muttered in his sleep." Ron shrugged. "It's not normal, really. But then, what about Harry is?"

_What about Harry is normal? _Ginny wondered as she wandered outside to sit under the tree Harry and she had kissed under the day before. He had no parents—that wasn't typical. He had a semi-telepathic scar—that wasn't exactly run of the mill. He had vicious nightmares every night, leaving him exhausted—far from commonplace. He had had someone try to kill him each year or so for the past seventeen years, and he wasn't hunted now merely because he was thought to be dead—very much non-standard.

And he survived everything he'd ever been through. No matter how many times someone shattered the mirror of his life; he picked up the pieces and rearranged them in a stronger order. Commendable, but not normal. Most people would have given up or killed themselves just to end everything already.

Harry wasn't normal. He was broken, many times, had more baggage than most could carry, had been tortured, seen friends and family injured or murdered before his eyes, lived with the guilt that accompanied surviving when no one else had, he'd suffered more in seventeen years than most would in seventeen lifetimes.

The idea that even his relationship with his guardians and only family was less than normal, and far from satisfactory, was frightening.

_A/N: There you are. I miss my reviewers. Where did you all go? But really, I hope it was good enough, and long enough, to pass as a good chapter. Special thanks to Hamm on Wry for his advice_


	9. Chapter 9: Crushed

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

_"Dear Ron and Ginny,"_ Ron read off Hermione's return letter. She leant over his shoulder to read, and he flicked her nose. "Don't read over my shoulder, that's creepy!"

"What's creepy is the fact you've just eaten, like, nine sandwiches and are probably still hungry," she retorted as she sat beside him at the kitchen table.

"Are you offering to make me another?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her. She raised one in reply, a skill he did not have.

"After you read the letter, maybe," she replied, looking at the letter. "And you got mustard on the letter!" she complained, looking at the stain on the back.

"Like I care. Although, it is a waste of mustard," he said sympathetically. "_I'm glad," _he read, _"that you finally decided to tell me that Harry had been found. Oh, and that he'd been missing, it was good to find out why he hadn't been answering my letters. Are you—?"_

"Ron, you hadn't written to tell her Harry was missing?"

"Well… No, but I thought you had."

"I was a bloody basket case for the two weeks he was gone. I hardly functioned; you thought I was up to writing letters? I even asked you to write her and—"

"Whatever! Let's just read her letter," he suggested, holding it out in his hand in a pompous fashion Ginny thought was mocking an officious brother of theirs who had moved out après-row with Dad. "_Are you sure that he's OK? Obviously, he's not _really_ OK, but is he coping? Is he eating? Is he healing? Does he talk? Can he talk? Does anyone know why the wards went down or how they got past them? Is there permanent physical damage, like a limp or something? Is he OK? I asked that already. Tell him to write me. Ginny, are you OK? I know how much you care about him; if he's struggling, it'll mean you are too. Be strong for Harry. Take care of your sister, Ron. And Harry, too. Goodness knows times are bad when I'm telling _you_ to watch things..."_

"How sweet!" Ginny said in a sugary voice. Ron glared at her.

"She is _so_ mad at me, it's not even funny," he muttered. "She signs off after that."

"Someone's crushing on someone," Ginny stated as Ron stared at the letter. He snapped his head up, sending a fresh glare.

"I am so not!"

"I didn't say you were, but funny how you knew that's what I meant, isn't it?" she asked, dodging the crumbled letter Ron threw at her.

"Don't you _dare_ tell her!" Ron snarled. Ginny rose and pulled some bread from the breadbox.

"That's your job, isn't it?" she asked, beginning his sandwich. "What do you want on it?"

"Ham, turkey, mustard, cheese, mayo, lettuce, tomato, and pickles. Make me two!"

"I'm fine, Madame Pomfrey," he said quietly. Harry sat on a bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey unwrapping the bandage on his left hand. He looked away from the still-healing flesh of his knuckle; the red scabs combined with the yellowy pus grossed him out.

"You've an infection," she noted, summoning a glowing, pale blue potion from one of her numerous cupboards.

"It'll fade, like they always do. I've got a strong immune system," he insisted, not wanting to trouble or worry anyone. More than that, he wanted to stop with potions and hospitals. If he could ignore his injuries until they subsided completely, he could pretend the past few weeks in Lestrange Manor's basement had never happened.

He could pretend his flashbacks were under control, he could pretend he was all right.

"And putting it under unnecessary strain," she began sternly, pouring the potion into a small glass, "is just that; unnecessary. Drink up." He drank, hoping if he conceded on this, Madame Pomfrey would concede on his point.

"Other than that, am I alright?"

"Well enough," she said disapprovingly, placing new bandages on his hand.

"Then can we stop with the weekly checkups? I feel fine, there's no pain when I move or anything," he said, watching Madame Pomfrey as she walked around the bed to the cupboard. She placed the small blue bottle on the shelf next to pink, red and green ones, including a bottle of Skele-Gro, before turning to look at him unsympathetically.

"Albus isn't concerned, as no one has moved to complain, but I'm concerned about your health up here," she said, firm and kind at the same time, tapping her temple where her dark hair pulled from her aged face into a bun. He felt a slight sting of annoyance that it had to be Professor Dumbledore who complained, not him.

"You think I've hurt my head? Like a concussion?" he asked, confused.

"No, I mean your mental health!" Harry looked away, knowing a blush stained his cheeks.

"That's fine, too," he lied. He had maybe two nightmares a night, but they didn't wake him screaming. If that happened, he'd complain himself. The flashbacks had subsided to only once every few days, which he knew was more his suppression than actual healing. "I don't need this, I'm recovering, and our meetings aren't really speeding it along."

"Well, I've been told by Albus that you're—"

"And _I'm_ telling you that I'm fine! I'm not a child, I can watch after myself." He stared at her, needing her to concede on this.

"You're barely seventeen—"

"I've never really been a child, Madame Pomfrey," he said, standing. "You know that, you've known me for the past seven years."

"While I agree you could always handle yourself in most situations, Albus—"

"Professor Dumbledore should know that too. I've acted like an adult for years; it's high time I'm treated like one."

"Go home," she said softly. He took some of the Floo Powder that sat on her mantle. _I'm not sure where home is, _he thought. _You're supposed to feel safe at home. _

The green flames disappeared to reveal a brief glimpse of the Burrow's kitchen before someone attacked him immediately.

_A/N: I know, a cliffy. Don't worry, or maybe do. I'm not sure... Anyways... graduated grade eight today! Yesterday. W/E. I'm going to Toronto for two weeks in like, nine days or something, so I might not update while I'm there, depends if I can bring my laptop and then, of course, if I can get internet. I'll def update before I leave, so you won't have a cliffy in your face for a month._


	10. Chapter 10: Explosion

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

"Harry!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around him as he emerged from the fireplace. She knew her unruly hair was probably covering his face, but he could handle her hug for a moment, couldn't he?

Through his oversized, thin shirt (why was he still wearing his cousin's hand-me-downs?), Hermione could feel his ribs and sharp nubs of his spine. Why wasn't he gaining weight? Was he not eating?

"Hermione!" he protested, sounding choked. "Thanks for the hug, but I can't really breathe!"

"Sorry," she said, letting him go. "Tonks got me from my parent's house to visit you. She's in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley now. How are you? Does anything hurt? What happened?"

"One question at a time, Mione," he complained, not answering any. Ron waved half-heartedly, intent on the game of chess the two were playing. Ginny smiled from the couch. Harry sat beside her, leaving room for Mione in front of the chessboard. Hermione didn't miss the warm look in both their eyes as the two looked at each other, and she didn't miss that _Harry_ initiated contact, reaching for Ginny's hand with a bandaged one.

Bandages, even only a few weren't good, it meant he was still marked.

"After they finish the game, we're going to Diagon Alley," Ginny said. "Tonks is our escort, with my parents."

"Good," Harry said. Hermione watched the two as they sat next to each other, seeming so innocent and calm, as if they were just watching chess. It wasn't until Hermione peered closer she saw Harry's thumb was stroking Ginny's hand, how Ginny's finger's caressed Harry's knee through their hold on his hand. Harry and Ginny were both younger than her and Ron, how did they manage to figure out how to fall in love before them?

Why did she assume the two were in love? Harry wasn't even looking at Ginny, but the chessboard. Hermione followed his gaze as she sat. Ron was deciding where to move, but Hermione couldn't see a move that would not put one of his pieces in danger.

He apparently did, leaning back with a smirking grin, one that suited him, and made Hermione's stomach twist. The knight moved, and took her bishop, which was protecting her king from his rook. She tried desperately to find another piece to fill the gap…

Her king fell to Ron's rook a few moves later. Tonks swooped in, kissing Harry's cheek, to his embarrassed blush.

"Hiya, Harry!"

"Hey, Tonks," he said, smiling at her. Today, she had hair as red as Ginny's, but in a shorter cut that showed off her heart-shaped face with soft features, one that she liked and wore often. Her eyes were a bright orange, though, ruining the natural-looking effect of the normal red.

"Y'all ready to go?" she asked, giving Ginny a hug overtop the couch back, resting her chin on the younger girl's head. Hermione stood, glancing from Harry to Ron for their input, but found Harry had spaced out, eyes glazed. Ron was staring at her, but wasn't listening.

"I am," Hermione said. "Boys? Ginny? Tonks?" Ron snapped out of his own little world, and Hermione pretended she hadn't noticed him staring at her. Again. She loved it when he stared, and she stared as well. She was simply stealthy enough to not be caught.

"Sure," Harry said, rising as well. "Let's head out, if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are ready."

Hermione disliked the idea of showing the general public Harry. Even she, a Muggleborn at home in her dentist parents' home, had heard rumours through the Hogwarts students who she'd seen when out for foodstuff to a grocers. Not to mention the semi-subliminal speculation in the _Prophet._

It seemed to her, that if Harry was "dead", he couldn't go to Hogwarts, and he'd need to maintain a missing status. She didn't see the advantage of letting him, a still recovering him, reveal himself, even if he did need a new wand.

"Harry and I should go ahead, and you five should—"

"You four," Ginny said stubbornly. "I'm staying with Harry."

In Diagon Alley, Tonks insisted she and Harry went alone, and Hermione had an inkling suspicion Harry had asked Tonks to split them up in case a Death Eater or three shopping or working attacked him. She hated how he would try to protect everyone except himself. It was stupid and probably caused more problems than it was worth.

Ginny managed to convince her mum and Tonks to let her go with the smaller group, though Ron didn't quite. Hermione smiled inwardly at his sputtering. He needed skills in debating. That left Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with Ron and herself.

They waited in the Leaky Cauldron as Mr. Weasley conversed easily with a friend from work, long after Harry and Ginny left with Tonks. Hermione walked beside Ron, and felt his eyes sneaking glances at her. She snuck a glance at him, just as he did, and her brown eyes met his blue ones.

She looked away hurriedly, blushing. They walked behind Mr and Mrs Weasley down the near-empty street, only about two dozen people milling in the streets, as it was after most people's lunch breaks, and well before the supper rush. She felt something stroke her hand. She looked and saw Ron's tentative hand, brushing hers. She took it in her own, enjoying the feel of the warm, calloused flesh encasing hers. Her mind tried to justify holding Ron's hand, stepping towards being more than friends are.

_He likes you, you like him, this doesn't have to be odd, _she thought fiercely. _If it doesn't work out, you'll still be friends with him. Harry won't mind if you date Ron, he's dating Ginny, and he's hinted he'd like you to date Ron more than some other guy. I think that's what he hinted… It's what I think I want, why does Harry's opinion matter? Should it?_

Ron's grip on her hand felt good, warm, gentle, and caring. What worried her was what would happen if they, as two stubborn people, ended the more-than-friendly relationship. Could they put the hurt or memories behind them and hold onto their friendship?

Somehow, she doubted it, especially if they had a huge fight. She met Ron's eyes without blushing, and he smiled at her, a soft and nervous smile.

An explosion knocked them from their feet, and their own little world.

Ron leapt to his feet, searching in the dust for Hermione. She lay, a gash on her forehead, roughly two meters from him.

"Hermione!" he cried, reaching for her as he knelt by her still form. _There's no _way_ she's dead,_ he told himself.

"Ron?" she asked groggily as he pulled red-wet, curly hair from the gash. "You OK?"

"Y-yeah," he answered, looking in her dazed, brown eyes.

"Help me up," she said, her voice becoming steady and strong. "Are your parents alright? Am I bleeding?" she asked, raising a hand to the gash.

"Yes to both. Let's move," he responded, pulling her to the alley his father pulled his mother into.

Mum had a deep cut on her shoulder, flowing red around the slivers of wood left from a kiosk of sorts. "Mrs. Weasley!" Hermione cried, whipping out her wand, her own gash forgotten.

"Ron," his father began, holding his unconscious wife as Hermione worked healing spells. "If you're not hurt, you should find your sister. I imagine Harry's at the thick of all this."

"You'll be alright?" he asked Hermione. He didn't want to leave her with that cut bleeding as it was. Did that make him a bad brother, to care more for his friend's wellbeing than his sister's? _No,_ he decided. _Ginny's got Harry to protect her, and I'll be damned if he lets her get hurt._

"Go and find them," she ordered, looking up from his mum. Swiftly, he kissed her cheek before he realized her moved to kiss her, then leapt to his feet and ran into the center of chaos: Ollivander's Wand Shop.

A/N: Sorry about the cliffy from the last one turning out to be Harry's definition of attack including excited hug from friend. Anywho, I'm going to Toronto soon but I will update before I go. I'll try to get you a double-sized chapter, so it'd be good for the two weeks. Maybe three chaps, possible, but unlikely. Don't expect three. There really was no point in me typing that, then eh? Or this. I'll stop now.


	11. Chapter 11: Focus

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

Harry gasped in pain as he pulled away from Ginny, looking down at his left shoulder. The joint pressing against his skin in a way it _definitely _wasn't meant to press against his skin. He looked at Ginny, who he'd shoved against the wall upon seeing Lucius Malfoy, and rightly so, judging by the explosion that followed. She'd crouched at his shout of "Get down!" and was now trying to help him remain standing straight. He looked at Malfoy, who he must've knocked out with the blind _Stupefy_ he'd fired off with his repaired wand. The man's left sleeve pulled back, the Dark Mark twisting horridly. He saw he'd also stunned Ollivander and Tonks, who both lay near the semi-crushed counter, sheltered by the counter's wreckage from the debris.

"Harry, your shoulder—" she began as he leant against the wall, looking down at his body, noting with a strange satisfaction that Ginny's only injury was a series of small lacerations on her legs, exposed under her summer shorts.

"It's my side I'm worried about," he said, pressing a hand against the wound. His pale hand came back slick with blood, dripping.

"Bloody hell," Ginny whispered. "Harry…"

He glanced down again, panting in pain and saw... something he never hoped he'd see. Insides were called insides for a reason. He swore colourfully, expletives that would've curled Ginny's stock straight hair in another situation.

"Get out of here," he ordered her as his scar pulsed, blacking his vision momentarily. He gripped the phoenix and holly wand Ollivander had, in a huge display of generosity, had repaired into good-as-new condition, in his right hand. It'd be harder to get off spells in his non-dominant hand. She glared at him, dusty but gloriously uninjured.

"I'm not leaving you like this!" she snapped, her hands tearing her light, blue jumper into strips.

"I don't want to let Voldemort to get his hands on you," he retorted just as sharply, as she began to tie the strips around his midsection. She pulled tight, and he struggled for breath against the throbbing.

"Sorry," she murmured, "but the tight will help stop the bleeding. We need to get _you_ out of here; you're the one he wants."

"I dunno," Harry said, screwing up his face as she knotted another strip. He peered around her shoulder as she worked, looking into the seemingly empty street. "It'd be awfully nice to have you as bait. If he got you, how could I forgive myself?"

"You'd manage it. I mean, it's not like you're in _love_ with me or anything," she muttered, double checking the rough bandage.

"That's not true," he said immediately. Ginny looked up at him, eyes wide at what he now realized he implied. He licked his lips, nervous. "I mean, I—"

"Never mind that then," she sputtered, trying to regain control of the situation. "How do you know he's even been summoned?" she asked, her hands now thoroughly covered in his blood. _Didn't know I had that much,_ he thought, and saw, over her freckled shoulder, a tall, black-robed, white-scaled snake enter, brandishing a yew wand. Harry grabbed Ginny's shoulder with his right hand and pulled her behind him, pushing off the wall to stand with a resolve he didn't think he could hold for too long.

"You don't kill easily, do you, Potter?" he hissed, a handful of Death Eaters filing into the store from hole in the wall that led to the wreckage of the street.

"I expect you'll be less of a challenge for me, Mr. Riddle," he said smoothly, tightening his grip on his wand.

"Well, since I'm obviously better equipped, my challenge will prove to be not as much of a substantial one."

"I suppose, but then, like last time, if you killed me, I'd only come back again. That's, what? The third time you've had me trapped and I've gotten away? Losing your touch, old man."

"Well," Voldemort began, "we'll have to try killing you once more. No more games. Quick and painless, more than a good-for-nothing like you deserves. _Accio Potter!_"

Harry felt himself lassoed by an invisible robe and pulled forward. Ginny grabbed his left, wand-free hand and pulled him against the force. Stars exploded in front of his eyes as his already-dislocated joint strained to remain attached. The rope retreated, and Voldemort hissed, his nostril's flaring. Harry thought he saw a forked tongue slide between inward-curving snake incisors.

He remained at Ginny's side, but Voldemort didn't give up. He flung a curse at Harry, one that he deflected into a Death Eater—Judson, by his limp—who dropped immediately, tentacles spewing from his face. The other Death Eaters flung curses, jinxes and hexes at the two.

Harry threw a shield up, one that would allow his spells to pass, but no one else's. He Stunned two—Avery and Nott—leaving only seven aside Voldemort.

Ginny whipped out her own wand and stunned two Eaters—five left—as Aurors began to flow in the chaos of the street outside. Voldemort sent a Cruciatus at Harry, missing by a hair, close enough to sting, and he then Apparated away.

Within seconds, Harry, Ginny, and Aurors were the only ones in the store, and Ollivander and Tonks were revived. Harry leant against the wall gratefully, thoroughly exhausted. His tongue felt rather big in his mouth, and, as he looked down to check his side, he saw the bloodied beam that had bit into him. _Big beam,_ he thought groggily, the end of the adrenaline rush leaving him dizzy. _Wonder how deep that cut into me…_

Ron burst in the door, a black bruise spreading on his forehead, but otherwise fine. He saw Harry—apparently his side looked as bad as it had before Ginny bandaged it with her favourite sweater—and let out a fluent stream of curses that would've gotten Harry beaten good as a child.

"Bloody hell, you alright mate?" Ron demanded, rushing to check over his sister and friend. He ran his hands over his sister's arms, and hovered uncertainly after she pushed him away.

"Holy sweet whale carcass!" Tonks cried after she regained consciousness, pushing herself up and rushing to Harry. "Ginny, Ron, Harry, are you three OK?"

"Harry's not," Ginny said, and as if on cue, his vision developed fuzzy blackness around the edges, rapidly shrinking his world. He gripped the wall to steady him, and felt a hand press against his roughly-bandaged side, and the pain from the pressure swam in his mind. He heard Tonks call his name, as though through a water-filled tunnel.

He watched as Ginny's lips moved, and tried to understand her.

"Harry… focus, stay with me… Harry… focus!" she cried. _Focus,_ he thought. _Got to focus…_

"He's… blood, too much… stay with me now……. Get you to Mungo's…" Tonks's hands gripped his shoulders to steady him. A bad idea; pain ripped at his arm, burning. The floor leaped up at him, and he knew no more.

**A/N: This chapter is the first of my three-in-one, the three chapters for the three weeks I'm in Toronto. There will be no updates until July 23rd, at the earliest. I'll update again immediately after this is posted.  
**


	12. Chapter 12: Time

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

"Albus says he has to return to the Dursleys, or he'll be an open target, Molly," Ginny's father whispered. Ginny couldn't see them from her position near the closed and locked kitchen door, but she could envision them, her mother wringing her hands in a dishcloth, her father fiddling with a plug or battery from his seat at the table as he talked. She waited in the sitting room, Harry asleep on the couch, where Madame Pomfrey had given him a Blood Replenishing Potion.

"He was attacked in Diagon Alley, he nearly died—"

"He didn't nearly die," Dad interrupted, denying the obvious. Harry _had_ nearly died; Healers at St Mungo's weren't sure why he hadn't. He'd lost a lot of blood, during the sketchy battle that delayed healing of the toxins from his torn intestine spreading through his body. Ginny didn't understand how he hadn't blacked out, at the very least. She almost blacked out just looking at his side.

"Well, it seems to me that Harry is a high-priority target, and he'll always be. I just don't see the benefit of separating him from Ron and Hermione to send him to the Dursleys… and taking him from Ginny can't help either, I suppose…"

Ginny felt the awkward silence fill the kitchen, and, in her minds eyes, she could pretend her father looking up from his plug, leaning back as he did when nervous.

"Those two are getting rather… serious," her father began. "I know Harry wouldn't _dare_ take advantage of our little girl, but it's like Bill said earlier. Harry has to be the one to get rid of You-Know-Who; you know what the prophecy says. You-Know-Who could prove to be a bit hard to…"

"Kill?" her mother supplied. "How much time does Harry have to… to give Ginny? When he—_if_ he dies, how would Ginny take it? I know he's friends with Ronnie, and the two are close as peas in a pod, but Ginny… she's in love with that boy, Arthur."

"I know… This could end in the murder of a seventeen-year-old boy. It could end with Ginny and Ron grieving for someone who shouldn't have died."

"I lost_ my_ brothers in the First War, and I turned out OK," her mother defended. Ginny had never met her mother's brothers—twins like Fred and George, though supposedly well behaved. From stories she'd heard from her parents, the twins got their mischievous side from their mother, something she'd lost with her brothers.

"Your brothers were twelve and eleven years older than you. You three weren't as close as our children are with Harry."

"What should we do?"

"Not much we _can_ do," her father said resignedly. "It's not as though we can forbid them from seeing him, nor do I want to, Harry's a good friend to them. He'd die for them."

"That's what I'm afraid of. If he'd died today, or if You-Know-Who had gotten hold of Ginny! He was so close! He was right there, and if Harry hadn't been the focus, she would've died. You saw Tonks's memory in the Pensive earlier, Harry pulled Ginny out of the way of that beam, and it nearly cut him in half!"

"But, Ginny says she stopped You-Know-Who from Summoning Harry into his arms, to take him away and really kill him."

"Exactly!" her mother cried, and Ginny heard glasses clink against the sink. "He's dragged her into this; she was _near_ that horrible man. Remember how awful she was after she was taken in her first year? If he'd gotten her again, we'd never get the _real _her back."

While her parent's paused in their conversation, she tried to control her displeasure. Harry hadn't _dragged_ her into anything. Fighting Tom, even if she'd never met Harry, was where she'd want to be. How dare her mother imply Harry forcing her to do anything!

Harry was the gentlest soul; he had never hurt her, or anyone else. She'd been surprised to learn how affectionate Harry could be. It was something she'd never suspected of him before they started dating. She'd particularly noticed how much he enjoyed holding hands, touching her face, or any simple caress she'd give him. She supposed it was all new to him. She didn't imagine that his horrible family had ever bothered showing him much affection.

That thought, combined with Harry's obvious delight from her touch, had made Ginny want to touch him all the more. Of course, the supreme satisfaction of knowing she was the one having that effect on him didn't hurt, either. She'd purposely brush her fingers to his when she handed him something, or swipe her hand along his shoulders when she left or entered a room, and he always responded to it. She looked over to him, sleeping on the couch, looking more peaceful than he ever did when awake.

Her father spoke again, softer and hesitant.

"Molly, I don't think there's a way for us to keep our children safe—"

"Of course there is, Arthur. Ginny's still underage, she's no business fighting, and Ron's barely seventeen, seems only yesterday he was just starting Hogwarts…"

"And you were barely seventeen when we got married. Shortly after you turned eighteen we had Bill—"

"That's not the same as fighting a war against someone like You-Know-Who, Arthur. It's not the same at all."

Harry felt himself drifting into wakefulness. _We need to find the boy and kill him…The torture did nothing on his cheek, and his supposed death did not dispose of him… we need a new solution._ The angry thoughts swirling in his mind weren't his own. _Get out of my head,_ Harry thought, pushing at the presence until it subsided completely.

He heard the front door swing on its squeaky hinges. "Is he awake yet, Ginny?" Hermione asked. He wondered if she'd gone home last night, or if she'd convinced her parents to let her stay overnight. "It's nearly ten o'clock."

"No, he's not," he heard Ginny say. He sat, rubbing his face with his still-bandaged hand.

"Yes, he is. How can a bloke sleep with you two—" Ron was with Hermione, and it looked as though they were holding hands, "—traipsing in and out at all hours?" he asked, smiling at them. Ron snorted.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Ginny said, kissing him—a real kiss, not exactly a swift peck—despite Ron's presence. "Thanks for saving my life yesterday." She handed him his glasses, which had been resting on the coffee table.

"My pleasure," he murmured, sliding his glasses on. Ron and Hermione _were_ holding hands. It was about bloody time Ron pulled his head out of his arse and decided to make a move with Hermione's hinting flirtations.

"Was You-Know-Who really there?" Ron asked, moving to plop himself down on the ratty armchair at the "head" of the coffee table. Hermione sat on the other couch across from the couch Ginny and Harry sat on.

"Yeah, he was," Harry said, rubbing his side with his right hand—his left wouldn't move from the sling it rested in—which was still sore—actually, it kind of throbbed. "What happened after I passed out?"

"Tonks wouldn't let me come to St. Mungo's with you, and if I'd taken the time to argue, you'd have bled to death. So I let her take you. Check it."

Ginny reached over and pulled up his shirt—ignoring his protests—and showed him the raised, jagged, dark scar that ran across the right left side of his body, surrounded by bruises.

"Nice one," Ron said appreciatively, nodding his head in amused disgust. Ron's bruise, Harry noticed, was gone, leaving his forehead tinged yellow.

"It's nothing," he said, pulling his shirt down.

"Nothing?" demanded Hermione. "It's a large scar; you were nearly sliced in half! You can't just shrug it off!"

"No, I can't," he agreed. "I can't shrug anything off. My shoulder's dislocated." Ron chortled, and Ginny grinned. Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering something along the lines of "completely moronic". _Well,_ Harry thought, _moronic can be fun._

**A/N: This chapter is the second of my three-in-one, the three chapters for the three weeks I'm in Toronto. There will be no updates until July 23rd, at the earliest. I'll update again immediately after this is posted.  
**


	13. Chapter 13: Training

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

"Dumbledore wants you to return to the Dursleys," Ron said to Harry late that night. Harry rolled over to look at him, wincing as his shoulder, not yet fully healed, shifted.

"Why? That sounds completely pointless to me."

"Yeah, well, Ginny was eavesdropping last night, and she says he thinks you'll be an open target until you get the blood protection back."

"I'll be an open target no matter where I am. He needs to take his head out of his arse," Harry whispered back, rolling his eyes. Ron laughed. "What's so funny?"

"I've _never_ heard you tell someone to take their heads out of their arse before. I don't think I've even heard you _say_ arse before," he snickered.

"Yes, you have," Harry disagreed, frowning.

"Oh yeah? When?" he asked. His friend opened his mouth, paused, and shut it slowly, blushing. Harry threw his pillow at Ron as he laughed again. Ron shoved the pillow beneath him, thanking Harry for his generosity.

"You've heard it," he muttered stubbornly, rolling onto his back. Ron did the same, chuckling, and they stared at the ceiling in silence.

"Harry?" he whispered hesitantly, looking over at Harry. This was something he had to ask, as awkward as it would be. They never talked about stuff like this, Harry's family, or childhood. Something about the way he reacted made Ron shy away from the subject.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you want to go back to the Dursleys? They're your family, and they haven't seen you since you… went missing." Harry's silence bothered him.

"They won't miss me," Harry said after a few moments, staring resolutely at the ceiling.

"They're your family! How could they not?" Silence filled the room, pressing against Ron's ears almost painfully.

"Ron, can you keep a secret?" Harry asked, propping himself up on his elbow to look at Ron. He sat too.

"Yeah…"

"You know how, when you broke me out in second year, there was a cat flap on the door?" he asked, looking down.

"Yeah…"

"It was there so they could push food through."

"Why not just open the door?" he questioned, not understanding. Harry looked at him like he was missing something very obvious.

"There were half a dozen deadbolts on the other side, Ron."

"Why on earth would there be locks—" he began. Harry threw a Cannons magazine at him, hitting him square on the forehead.

"To keep me in! They hated—hate me. I was lucky if food came through at all."

"They can't hate you, you're their nephew!" Ron protested. "Blood's thicker than water."

"You have no idea," Harry muttered under his breath. In full voice, or at least full-whisper, he said, "It doesn't matter that I'm their nephew. Aunt Petunia hates magic; I assume she hated my mother because she was magic, hated Hogwarts because it was magic, and I know she hated my father because he was magic. Guess why she hated me?"

"Because you were magic," Ron said. _Night full of firsts,_ he thought. Harry had never talked about his family, and Ron didn't think he'd ever heard that many words out of Harry's mouth at one time. Maybe when he was in front of the DA…

"Right. You know how, when you were a kid, you'd get upset, or excited and you'd blow something up, or vanish something accidentally?" Ron nodded.

"Imagine; real quick for me, what would've happened to you if the people you lived with were like _my_ family." Ron thought about it. Maybe Harry would get locked in his room for a while? Why was that so bad? Ron got sent to his room when he was a kid…

Harry lay back down, but Ron threw Harry's pillow at him. "I don't get it. What was it like?" Harry shook his head, leaving the pillow on the ground where it landed after Ron missed.

"We should stop talking about this. It doesn't matter anyway."

"I think Harry needs to be trained, Dumbledore," Remus whispered. The halls of Grimmauld Place, dark, dusty and gloomy despite the best efforts of everyone there to clean, made their whispers seem like shouts to Remus's ears.

"The boy needs to mature," Dumbledore repeated softly, continuing down the narrow hall from the conference room to the stairs that led to more halls, then the main foyer. "He's just a child now, if we train him, he'll go off and fight Voldemort alone—"

"Harry's not stupid; he won't search him out—"

"Like he wasn't supposed to search out Sirius Black?" Dumbledore pointed out in his breathy voice, turning to face Remus. "Stupid, he is not. Reckless? Very much so, he takes risks that put him on the line between life and death, and waits for a gust to blow him one way or the other," Dumbledore whispered, illustrating his words with gestures.

Beginning down the corridor once more, he continued: "Besides, the Dursleys will embrace his return—he's their nephew—and the blood protection will strengthen."

"And so how will we train him? He wants the training, and if he doesn't get it from you, he'll get it somewhere else," Remus pointed out. Dumbledore stopped just above the first staircase to face him.

"Would you train him if the Order decided not to?" he asked, peering at Remus over his half-moon glasses, testing him. Remus decided to pass—or fail, depending on how you looked at it.

"Yes. People are dying, being chased from their homes, robbed, abused, meanwhile, the one who, according to the prophecy you refuse to share despite the weight it holds, the one who can stop it is sitting under your thumb not doing anything!"

"You know why I chose to not share the prophecy—"

"Yes. Because you think it would compromise our safety. What about the safety of the innocents being murdered for sport by the Death Eaters? What about Harry's? When Voldemort gets him next time, if we don't train him, he'll never learn how to defeat him!"

"And if we _do _train him, he might not live," Dumbledore said, very much with the reasoning of a father not letting his child learn to drive.

"If we don't, his death is guaranteed." Dumbledore shook his head, his long, silver hair trembling with the motion beneath his orange hat.

"We can protect him long enough for him to be mature enough to—"

"To what? Kill someone? You're never 'mature' enough for that. In any case, Harry's not a child!"

"He's barely seventeen—" Dumbledore began, turning, starting down the stairs.

"But he _is_ seventeen. Dumbledore, think about this. He doesn't have to listen to us anymore. He's an adult, and he acts like one. I'd understand if he was like me, or James, or Sirius, when we were seventeen. We wanted to get what we wanted. Harry… I've never heard him say "I want". He always says "I need to". He knows what he has to do, and you're not letting him. If he can't be trained by you and he respects you, but if you won't let him do his supposed "duty", he'll find someone who will."

"Someone like you?" Dumbledore asked, stopping again. I slid past him, and began down the stairs ahead of him.

"Potentially. Someone like me, or Kingsley, Tonks, Moody, Molly and Arthur, any one of the Weasleys in the Order… every single one of us would train him. If you listened to the people making up your inner circle, you would too."

**A/N: This chapter is the THIRD of my three-in-one, the three chapters for the three weeks I'm in Toronto. There will be no updates until July 23rd, at the earliest. **

OK, so that is that. I'm not sure if I'll have access to internet where I'm staying, so I guess the reviews won't be replied to until I get back. I will reply though, I always do. Anyways, um... Yeah... See you in a few weeks!


	14. Chapter 14: Quixotic

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

"And he pulled you out of the way?" Hermione whispered to Ginny. She saw her friend smile covertly. They sat on their beds in Ginny's room, going over what had happened during the explosion, something they hadn't done the night before as they were both healed and force-fed sleeping draughts. Tonight they were gossiping late in the night, the moon giving the only light through the angled window above Ginny's desk's nook.

"I didn't know at the time. All of a sudden he yanked me backwards, and yelled for me to get down. I crouched, and I felt him wrap his arms around me. He dislocated his shoulder, nearly cut himself in half, broke two ribs, and has _colossal _bruises, all because he wanted me safe. And I barely got a scratch."

"Didn't he realize he should've just used a shield? It would've protected the both of you," Hermione pointed out. Ginny rolled her eyes, smile as faded as her yellow PJs.

"But it's romantic that he decided to protect me, at risk of himself—"

"He risks himself for everyone!" Hermione cried, shaking her head, not amused with Ginny's romance. Her account of what had happened made risking yourself seem heroic, not stupid. _Harry always puts himself in danger,_ she thought stubbornly. _It's not even a big deal anymore._

"Well, if Ron had protected you, wouldn't you think it was sweet?"

"Why would I think it's sweet that he got himself hurt?" Ginny rolled her eyes.

"You're not the least bit quixotic, are you?" she asked.

"Quixotic?" Hermione questioned, not sure what it meant. Ginny grinned mischievously and looked into the "distance", dreamy eyes mocking her.

"Someone somewhere _knew _this day would come. A day of visionary importance, the day someone held fast to knowledge of a word Hermione didn't know. Perhaps this day will never be repeated in the length of historic events; perhaps it signals the conclusion of the world _as we know it_. Perhaps—"

"Move it along, tell me what it means. This isn't a Kodak Moment."

"What's a Kodak Moment?" Ginny asked, dropping the charade like a hot brick. She cocked her head to the side, just like Ron did when confused. It was funny how two siblings—so different on the outside—had some of the same quirks.

"Oh, um, Kodak's a camera and film company, you know, photographs. Muggle ones don't move, however, Kodak was the major company for cameras and things," Hermione explained. "And whenever a situation is extremely memorable, you'd take a picture, to remember the Kodak Moment. It was their slogan, and it caught on."

"Right…" she said skeptically, seeming to pass it off as some odd Muggle thing."So, anyway, quixotic is romantic, dreamy, sometimes impractical… You know, idealistic. You're not that in the least."

"There's nothing wrong with being logical and commonsensical," Hermione defended. "I see facts, Ginny, not colour and feeling. If Fudge's work is any example—"

"What does he have to do with this conversation?" Ginny asked, exasperated. Hermione shook her head as she explained the logic.

"Well, he let his feelings—his idealism—to interfere with his work. If he'd seen the _facts_ clearly, You-Know-Who might've been beaten before he got a foothold. But he let his fear guide him—"

"And I see facts clearly, even if I am a bit romantic. I don't let 'colour and feeling' cloud my judgment. I'm smarter than that. Besides, even if I wasn't in love with Harry, I'd still want to fight Riddle, and—"

"You're in love with Harry?" Hermione demanded, shocked. She knew the two had been girlfriend and boyfriend for ages, and Ginny always had feelings for him, especially after he saved her in second year, but _love?_

Hermione didn't even know what that was, exactly. At least, not romantic love, not the kind you'd feel for parents and brothers and sisters. You loved them by default, they loved you. You could depend on them, and they'd go out of their way for you. Hermione felt that way about Harry—the brother she never had.

Romantic love was putting someone ahead of self, and complete and total selflessness—or at least, equating someone's wants and needs alongside your own—was strange and slightly idealist in itself.

"What? I never said that!" Ginny cried, eyes widening, a blush creeping up onto her freckled face. "I—don't—I mean, maybe someday, but—"

"You're prattling. And you did say it. Something along the lines, and I quote, 'even if I wasn't _in love_ _with him_, I'd want to fight'. End quote."

"Even if I did, and I don't, I'd tell him before I told anyone else. It's not as though I _have_ to say it. It's not as though _he's_ said it," Ginny said, looking down and twisting and untwisting her fingers. "I mean, I really _like _him, and I can trust him, and we don't have stupid arguments… But I don't… I don't _love _him; at least, I don't think I do."

"Right," Hermione said, trying to not sound cynical.

"I _don't_ have to say it, right?" Ginny asked, looking up to Hermione, literally and figuratively. Hermione's heart swelled with pride that Ginny was looking to her for advice, but half of her was at a loss to give it to her.

"If you do," she began tentatively, "then you should tell him. If you love him, he should know. I actually think he might... But, I know Harry, and I know he might get scared by that love. I don't think he'd run… But he'd… I don't know… It scares him."

"How do you get scared by love?" she asked, looking very young and confused. Hermione hated being the adult in situations like this. She always felt anxious; if she gave the wrong advice, or said the wrong thing, would people look to her next time? Would people still trust her on matters of the heart, even if she wasn't "quixotic"?

"Well, for starters, his mother died for him because she loved him. Then Sirius did. He—and these are assumptions, he's never actually told me, mind—he feels like love makes you lose things. Really though, love gives. Even if those people gave their lives… usually you give your time, patience, trust, support… Harry's just had a rough life."

"But, Mum says the more you give, the more you get. What did his mom and Sirius get? They died."

"They… I guess they get to see Harry, get to watch him from wherever they are now. I guess they get to know he lived because of them."

_A/N: This is insane! Four chapters in one day! I must love you guys, readers. It's about two hundred words shorter than the last few, but I thought it was good. But, this puts me in the same spot as you guys (Usually I'm one chapter ahead, so if I'm don't write I can still update.). lol, whatever. I have two weeks free of updates, so I'll get caught up. I looked it up, I can NOT get internet where I am. Well, I probably could if I paid the ten dollars an hour, but screw that. Maybe I'll stop off at a Starbucks and be one of those people who write publiclly on their laptops there. OK, so see you (for real this time) in two weeks!  
p.s. PLEASE REVIEW! I hate writers who ask for reviews, but I haven't gotten one in_** ages**_. I even bolded it. There's another story the same length that has, like, two hundred, and I have, like, ten. I feel so lonely!_


	15. Chapter 15: Meetings

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

**_DEATH OF WIZARDING FAMILY OF FOUR_**

_ A wizarding family has recently been a victim of the violent attacks circulating through the London area. Although this is the first magical family to suffer gruesome, and seemingly random, murders, they are by no means the first in total._

_ As of Monday, August 21st, one hundred and seventy four Muggles have been found injured or worse due to magical attacks. The fabled Dark Mark, the supposed trademark of He Who Must Not Be Named, has been set above each site, as it was over the Wellington family's semi-rural home. _

_ Helga and George Wellington, both 35, were found in their kitchen, and, although Aurors refuse to make a formal statement, off-the-record interviews show they were killed with the dreaded Killing Curse. _

_ Their children, Hannah, aged 8, Susan, 9, Tomas, 11 and Mary, 12, suffered a worse fate. In yet another off-the-record statement, their deaths were attributed to a combination of Cruciatus and Diffindo curses. Some of our reporters on site spied the corpses, and were disgusted with their finds. _

_ This, coupled with the Dark Mark, sets fear into the wizarding communities as it is shown that pureblood families—like the Wellingtons—are hunted by the Death Eaters as Muggles and the Muggleborn. _

_ The funeral services, closed-casket, needless to say, for the Wellington family will be held on August 27th, at four o'clock. We at the _Daily Prophet_ offer our condolences to all who will attend. _

_ How long will we wait for liberation? Why won't the Chosen One come to our rescue? Is he as dead as the Wellingtons?_

"Wow," Harry said sadly, reading over Ginny's shoulder. She looked up at him and he bent to kiss her lightly. The kitchen, at just past nine, was empty of early-rising adults, and of late-rising teens.

"What wow?" she asked, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, careful to avoid his shoulder. He ignored the urge to kiss her, and maybe do a bit more, and focused on answering her question.

"That many people have died, nearly two hundred. Almost all of those people were innocent, Muggles who had no idea what had hit them…"

"I know, babe," she sighed, not relinquishing her grip on his neck. "But I don't know what to say. Everything will turn out OK, though, in the end."

"Maybe," he murmured. She released him, and he sat beside her in the Weasley's cozy, warm kitchen. "Maybe it'll be OK. We don't know."

"Sure we do. The good guys always win, right?" she asked. He shrugged, and took her paper, looking in it for any other news on what Voldemort was up to. He was creepily aware of Ginny, reading over his shoulder:

**_POTTER SEEN NEAR EXPLOSION IN DIAGON ALLEY_**

_ Devastation rocked Diagon Alley. A violent explosion, seeming to be seated in Dark Magic, shook Ollivander's wand shop, destroying sixty or more of his wands, razing nearby shops and kiosks, and injuring more than twenty people._

_ The rumored-dead Harry Potter was among them. Inside the famed wand shop at the time of the blast, he had a theatrical and brief duel with the Death Eaters assumed responsible for the explosion. _

_ His girlfriend of nine-months, Ginny Weasley, 16, was present alongside him, and stunned two Death Eaters during the short duel. All five of the followers of He Who Must Not Be Named have been successfully tried and imprisoned in Azkaban, including Lucius Malfoy, a well-respected Ministry official. _

_ Potter, who turned seventeen at the end of July, had no charges placed against him for involvement in the explosion, despite piles of circumstantial evidence. _

_ "He ought to be indicted, and investigated," says an Auror, who asked to not be named because he was undercover at the time of the blast. "He's been excused of underage magic before, and, though he's not underage anymore, we should pursue those charges again. They were dropped because of his celebrity—not testimony. At the least, he should be questioned like Ollivander was. Just because he's famous doesn't mean he's not a crook." _

_ Rumors of his death have been contradicted, and perhaps should be investigated. Many wizards, including school-mates of Potter, who had thought him to be dead after he was kidnapped on July 5th, were "shocked" by his appearance. _

_ Potter, according to an inside source, "was shaken by the blast," and is reported to be in critical condition, and treated by an out-patient-care Healer at St. Mungo's. _

_ A source at St. Mungo's, who treated Mr. Potter, says he suffered severe internal injuries before being released early due to clamoring fans outside his room. In an off-the-record interview with an off-duty Auror, a woman professed she was "unsure if he'd make it this time."_

_ No further information has been released by law officials at this time._

"Silly," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. "You weren't even taken to St. Mungo's. I'll bet all these quotes are fake."

"Maybe," he said, although he agreed completely. The _Prophet_ was known, to him at least, to have sketchy, tabloid-like stories with holes and completely fabricated articles. He found _The Quibbler _a more reputable paper; even though its stories were sometimes a bit out there, they always made sense, logically, and had real sources. "At least no one died in the fallout."

"Yeah," she murmured, standing up. She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around him. He closed his eyes tiredly and leant his head back against her shoulder.

She kissed his neck gently, whispering to him: "You haven't been getting enough sleep. You'll make yourself sick." He smiled as she kissed him again.

"Well, between attacks and Ron's bloody snoring, sleep isn't possible," he said jokingly, becoming thoroughly distracted from the paper with the feel of her soft lips—

"Alright, break it up, you two," Bill Weasley said, marching in through the back door, grabbing a bun from the breadbox as he kicked off his shoes. "No one here wants to see you snogging." Charlie entered behind him, flicking off his own boots and nodding hello to Ginny.

"We weren't snogging," Ginny said huffily, sitting down in her chair again. "Why are you two here?"

"Can't we just drop in? We used to live here you know," Charlie said, his eyes too innocent to be truly innocent.

"Well, you two only stop by when there's a meeting or something, and that's often enough now to account for all your supposed "dropping in"," Ginny pointed out, raising her paper once again. Harry smirked at the way she handled her brothers, who were ten years older than her at minimum.

"Good point. By the way, you two ought to head out, there _is_ a meeting tonight, and Mum seems a bit—" Bill made a gesture that showed Mrs Weasley to be a bit crazy, with worry, Harry assumed "—about what Dumbledore's up to now."

"Don't like him," Charlie said idly as he poked yogurt with a spoon. "He makes decisions too easily, too quickly, like."

"His decisions tend to save lives," Harry pointed out. He had a huge amount of respect for Professor Dumbledore, and, though he thought he could be a bit unreasonable at times, Harry trusted the silver-haired teacher with his life.

"Exactly my point," Charlie said. "He plays with those lives without due consideration."

* * *

"Harry, if you could stay behind with us tonight," Dumbledore asked softly. Harry turned, and nodded. Mum, Ron noticed, shook her head angrily. Ron read the words _just a boy_ on her lips, though his father nodded his approval.

"What about us?" Ron asked, gesturing from himself to his sister.

"I don't think so!" Molly snapped. Dumbledore nodded his silver head at her and began to shut the door. _Next time,_ his father promised him silently.

"Why does Harry get to do stuff like this all the time?" Ron asked his sister, grumbling as they made they're way outside to play a short game of catch with their non-enchanted Quaffle.

"I'm sure he'd be willing to trade fates with you, Ron," Ginny pointed out. "Ask him if you want to."

"Nah," he said, seeing her point. "He does kinda get the short end of the childhood stick. 'Course, you did too..."

They floated into the air on their brooms, and began to toss the Quaffle. _I wish Hermione was here,_ he thought, missing his friend, who was spending time with her parents, who, according to her in the letter she'd sent earlier that morning, had had a row about… something. Ron didn't remember right.

"Has Hermione said anything to you about… me?" he asked Ginny tentatively.

"Yeah. She asked me if that Hufflepuff in my year you dated for a while had said if you were a good kisser. I told her to ask you. Getting a move on with that, are you?" Ginny teased, raising a brow, and hurling the Quaffle perhaps a little harder than necessary.

"Oh, shut up. Don't tell her I asked either!" Ron commanded.

"She told me not to tell you."

"Then why did you?" he demanded. If Ginny ratted out Hermione, who she seemed to _like_ better than Ron, then what would stop her from ratting on Ron? _If I could blackmail her…_ Ron mused. Too bad Ginny, a very popular student who had her entire, basic existence known by the whole of the student body, had no real secrets. As a shy second year, her only real embarrassing scoop was her _huge_ crush on Harry. And who hadn't known about that? Besides Harry, who was delightfully oblivious, or at least made it seem that way, of girls around him, everyone had.

"Because I didn't tell you. You asked, and I _answered_," she explained. "Loop in the Law, see?"

"That's ridiculous," Ron said as Ginny nearly missed a very hard throw. "You told me the answer."

"Well, it's not like _you're_ going to tell her I told you the answer to _your_ question, is it? Because you're too embarrassed to ask her yourself. So there's virtually no way I could get caught."

Ron snorted, seeing the twisted logic behind her double-cross. _OK,_ he thought,_ that proves all girls are more complicated than they're worth._

_A/N: Sigh. Home. I miss the big city already and I've been home only ten-hours. I got my retainer adjusted today, and I _hate_ it. Oh well. I have to thank Dragonanzar for her review. For some reason, I keep getting error messages when I try to reply to your reviews, so once it's fixed you'll get replies. lol, I finally updated the summary. Maybe that'll draw more readers: it didn't summarize the story anymore... Not that that ones any better... Suggestions?_


	16. Chapter 16: Kidnapping

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

"The meeting tonight is aimed at the final decision concerning Harry's training. Some of us—" Professor Dumbledore began.

"—meaning you—" Remus muttered softly beside Harry.

"—don't think that he should be trained to kill. Voldemort." Harry tried to not fidget in his chair. He was sure his professor put the slight pause there on purpose, to show that they'd be training Harry to kill, to murder, to rob another of their life.

"The majority of us have voted yes on this matter—" Remus began, not blinking as he faced Professor Dumbledore, who sat at the head of the table.

"—So, I asked Harry to remain with us in the meeting as we hear his opinion on the matter. Harry," the professor invited, flourishing with a wrinkled hand. "I leave the floor to you."

Harry had noted that Professor Dumbledore hadn't stood to address the Order members, nor had Remus, so Harry decided rapidly that he shouldn't either. He really wished someone had warned him he'd be speaking at the meeting—let alone sitting in on it—and the feeling of being left in the dark was beginning to annoy him.

"I need the training, plain and simple. Voldemort is _my_ responsibility, and I need knowledge to protect others from him," he began, truly at a loss for what to say. "I can only get that training in so many places, and the best place is here. I, honestly, don't see why we're not training me, why we're not taking advantage of opportunity. Voldemort's been back three years too long."

"You realize the connotations, Mr. Potter, of the training?" Snape asked silkily. Snape's cold features glared at him with a fierce dislike, though one Harry was accustomed to.

"I understood that when I understood the prophecy, sir," Harry replied, words coming smoothly. "I don't like it, but I understand it perfectly. I want to do what I have to."

"Are you ready for what you have to do?" Molly asked, her facial expression and stiff posture showing Harry just how worried she was.

"Yes, ma'am. I want to fight, end this war. Too many have died already."

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore began. "I think it'd be wise to wait. You're still healing—mentally and physically—and if we wait, even just a few months—"

"A few months is too long," Harry interrupted. He looked around the table. Almost everyone—Snape, Professor Dumbledore and an incapable-of-thinking-clearly-she-was-so-worried Molly being the exceptions—agreed with the movement to teach him. "I want to do something while there are still some people I care about left. Until Voldemort is gone, none of you will be safe."

"When we train you," Professor Dumbledore began sadly. "Voldemort will realize you're a real threat to him—"

"Begging pardon for my rudeness, sir, but I think he realized that a long time ago," he snapped. "He thinks I'm a real threat so let's make me one! Right now I'm only good enough to hold my own in a duel; I need to be able to win."

"And in time you'll be able to, with or without this supposed _training_," Snape supplied icily, scowling at Harry. "If you would put your thick skull aside and achieve your best in your schooling you'd be able to. The Dark Lord had no other training than that, why should you get it?"

"Because I don't finish school for another year, and I refuse to sit around while hundreds of people are being murdered. All Voldemort has is Hogwarts training, perhaps, but that would make us equals in skill. I need the advantage in skill, as he has it in numbers."

"And size," Snape sneered, poking fun at the fact Harry was barely five-five in height. Harry sighed but didn't retaliate. He had to be the adult here or he'd never get anywhere.

"Harry needs the training, Albus," Molly put in. "I'm as worried for his safety as much as you are, but I agree with him. Untrained, things are more likely to kill him."

"I can see we won't all agreed on this matter, so let's—"

"—all of us except you and Severus want—" Remus began, almost growling at Dumbledore in his anger.

"Let's move on," the professor continued, as though he hadn't been interrupted. "First matter of business…"

* * *

"Harry," Remus whispered. The boy jerked from his slumber on the Burrow's red couch, grasping his wand with unnecessary quickness, placing its tip directly on Remus's pulse point.

"Who's there?" Harry asked, not moving the wand as his right hand fumbled for his glasses in the dark.

"It's Remus," Remus answered, lighting his wand so Harry could see him.

"How do I know it's you?"

"I stopped you from facing a Bogart in my third year class because I thought it'd turn to Voldemort," he supplied. Harry lowered his wand instantly and Remus rubbed his neck—the wand left him tingling—as the younger opened his mouth.

"What's going on? I thought you'd gone home to prepare for the full moon in three days?"

"I had, but I've come back to get you," he whispered, painfully aware he was risking everything with this. If he was found out, the Order would accuse him of kidnapping. If Harry refused to accompany him, the world would suffer until he found a way to fight.

"Why?" Harry asked, already standing and straightening his clothes. He placed a book on the coffee table as Remus answered.

"Dumbledore won't allow the Order to train you, but I know people who will. I hope you can pack quickly, we'll be gone for a while."

"Remus, isn't this dangerous for you?" Harry asked, moving to the stairs without question.

"Hardly the main concern at this point, but hurry, I'll explain on the way."

* * *

_Ron, Ginny and Hermione – _

_I'm safe, and I'm with Remus,_ he wrote, unsure what he should say.

He didn't want his friends worrying, especially since it sounded like he'd be gone, missing as it were, for a while. But he didn't want Remus to get in trouble for "kidnapping" him and it would appear that's what had happened.

_I can't say where I'm going, because as of yet I don't know. I'll try to keep in touch when I'm settled, but I can't guarantee it. I'm sorry I didn't say a proper goodbye to all of you. Don't tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley or anyone else where I am, or who I'm with. And don't worry about me._

_Ginny – take care of yourself, Hedwig and Ron for me. Hermione doesn't need minding. Remember that I'll miss you, and please don't kill me for leaving when I get back. I know I promised you I'd never leave without a goodbye again, but I'll do everything in my power to give you that goodbye. Better late than never, I guess. _

That sounded unbelievable lame. Better was much worse than never, and he was breaking a promise either way.

_Don't let this letter get to anyone else. I suggest burning it after you read it. _

_ I'll be thinking of you all,_

_ Harry_

He folded the letter and placed it on the dresser. He stuffed his clothes into his pack, wishing he had anything other than Dudley's hand-me-downs. He grabbed a few books—his old photo album with his parents and him, his new one with pictures of him, Ron, Mione and Ginny, and two Defense spell books.

He paused in his packing, opening the new album to its first page. The first picture was of Ron, Harry and Hermione sitting in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, cheering Ravenclaw on. The second was Harry laughing outside Hogwarts in summer, the lake behind him as Ginny perched on his back, smiling as she kissed his neck.

He placed the books in his bag and crept down the stairs. Remus waited by the front door of the Burrow, a left shoe in his hand, no doubt a Portkey.

Outside the Burrow's wards, near the paddock, Harry grasped the Portkey and waited. The familiar tug pulled behind his navel, and the world spun. Harry felt the Burrow's ground disappear…

He toppled, dizzy, as the world jerked to a stop. A woman reached down with a pale, tattooed hand and helped him to his feet. Her eyes, with silted pupils like a cat's, were an odd yellow-green.

Her encouraging smile revealed fangs beneath her twice pierced lip, in the centre of her lower and above her lips edge on the left side. She had a nose ring between her nostrils and a ball-ended bar embedded in the skin on the bridge of her nose. She had short white fur in place of fur, pointed, furred ears, complete with light, white whiskers. _Half-cat?_ Harry wondered.

"What?" she demanded in a strange accent as Harry stared. "You've never seen a werecat before?"

A/N: Woot! I just felt really inspired today, so here you go. I'd like to give credit to Christopher Paolini for the term werecat. I don't know if he actually invented it, and our werecats are different, but that's were the basis came from. Anyway, I'm starting work tomorrow, which is pretty chill. I'll update soon... maybe... :):P


	17. Chapter 17: Etienne

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

"No, ma'am, I haven't," he stuttered, regaining his focus along with the ability to speak. "Pardon me for asking, but what's a werecat?"

"Half-cat, half-human," she explained. "Like a werewolf is half-man, half-wolf."

"But Remus and the other werewolves are only in their wolf forms at the full moon," he protested as he looked around the room and away from the woman's strangeness.

It was a grand entry hall, and about twenty feet ahead of Harry was Remus, who was climbing one of two twin staircase that curved up in a semi-spiral. The marble floor was polished to reveal pink, red and blue veins running through the white. Carved columns ran across the far-flung walls, supporting the floor nearly fourteen feet above them on the sides, were six foot wide platforms ran around it, clearly where Remus was heading. Vast floor-to-ceiling windows, with the rich gold curtains pulled back to meet the red, panel clad stucco walls, showed training yards and stables beyond a small stream.

"They are not true werewolves," the werecat explained. "Lycanthropes are contaminated humans. A true werewolf bit them, or a transformed lycanthrope bit them, and they were contaminated." She sighed.

"A true werewolf would be very hard to find: they were hunted down because they all had wolves savage killing skills, human speech and intelligence. They were horrid creatures that killed or contaminated, and nothing else. If they had a shred of human decency, they'd still be around. Now all were-creatures have a bad name from their murders."

"Then what's a werecat, logistically?" Harry asked, turning his gaze back to the woman. She purred as she laughed.

"A human with a cat's rough appearance, abilities and agility," she said with a smile. She fell onto her hands—longer-than-normal paws with thumbs—and stalked forward. "Follow me." Harry followed her, noticing her pure-white tail poked from her Muggle jeans. She leapt to the landing at the top of the stairs, landing with the litheness of a cat.

He trotted up the stairs as she rose to walk erect alongside him. "Why did Remus bring me here?" he asked, not expecting a straight answer from the woman. "And what's your name?"

"Remus brought you here so he and I could train you," she answered. "We plan to teach you everything you need to defeat Voldemort. And you may call me Paz."

"What do I need?" he asked her, trying to understand what his training here. Unexpectedly, Paz whirled, lashing out with her hind paw. He jerked back and the paw whizzed past his jaw.

"Well, not reflex training, for one," she said mildly, continuing down the vast balcony hall. Harry noticed there were nearly two dozen unmarked wooden doors on this side of the hall alone. "We have a number of were-creatures here; I actually think you're the only pure human. We'll be training you in magical and physical combat, shielding, wandless and wordless spell work, and, of course, Occlumency." She pushed a heavy, polished, oak door open and Harry walked in at her beckon.

The door slid shut as Harry looked around the small room. There was a single, white sheeted bed in the corner beneath three point five meter tall windows opening to the same view as bellow. A triple-drawer dresser sat against the wall opposite the bed, a frameless mirror hanging above it.

"This will be your room while you're here, sir," Paz said. Harry blushed, turning to face the were-cat.

"Just call me Harry, please. I'm not a sir," he demurred. Paz nodded, smiling. Her piercing sparkled.

"Of course, Harry. Remus asked me to tell you he'll be up as soon as he finishes with Etienne."

"Who's Etienne?" he asked, confused. Remus had never mentioned him. Paz's eyes crinkled as she let out another purr-laugh.

"He's to be in charge of your training. He used to be a professional killer before... Well, I'll let Etienne speak for himself, Harry. Wait here, get settled."

With that, Harry found himself alone in the room. He laid his rucksack on the bed, opening it, allowing his things to spill onto the rich coverlet. He pulled his clothes from the pile and placed them, refolded, into drawers. He set the photo albums in the bottom drawer, his Defense books on the dresser top.

He looked around the room, pleased. The room was plain: white furniture, white-blue walls, and no personal items displayed. It didn't show a thing about him. _I think I'll like it here,_ Harry thought, smiling.

A knock sounded on the door, and Harry went into the hall as Remus called his name. The werewolf—or rather, lycanthrope waited for him by the railing on the walkway that circled the entry room below. Harry neared the railway, smiling at his friend and professor.

"Harry, welcome to Haven," Remus murmured. "You've already met Paz, and Etienne is downstairs. Shall we?" Harry nodded and Remus led him down the stairs, across the large room to the set of windows opening to a lake, with the small stream flowing into it. Remus pulled a curtain further from the window, revealing a bookcase. Remus pulled three books in quick succession, and the bookcase slid smoothly into the floor.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," a voice greeted. "Please, come in. I am Etienne."

The man, as he was, stood from his seat behind the mahogany desk. Holes were cut in the back of his black leather jacket, revealing red and gold feathers reminiscent to Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix.

He had a human face, though inhumanly beautiful despite lacking ears, long, fiery, feathers for hair, and his hands had small, enameled, red feathers in place of fingernails. He stepped from behind the desk, tail feathers swishing on the marble floor his talons clicked on. Up close, Harry noticed his eyes were red-gold, even where there should be whites.

"I'm Harry Potter, sir," Harry said, moving to shake hands—wings?—with Etienne.

"Yes, Remus has told me much about you, Harry. He tells me you are here to seek training," said Etienne, keeping his red-gold eye on Harry even as he smiled at Remus.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, slightly nervous. Etienne grinned, opening to black, pointed teeth, as he flexed his hand, feathers waving.

"Then we best get to work."

* * *

_Ron, Ginny and Hermione – _

_I'm safe, and I'm with Remus. I can't say where I'm going, because as of yet I don't know. I'll try to keep in touch when I'm settled, but I can't guarantee it. I'm sorry I didn't say a proper goodbye to all of you. Don't tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley or anyone else where I am, or who I'm with. And don't worry about me._

_Ginny – take care of yourself and Hedwig for me. Remember that I'll miss you, and please don't kill me for leaving when I get back. I know I promised you I'd never leave without a goodbye again, but I'll do everything in my power to give you that goodbye. Better late than never, I guess. _

_Don't let this letter get to anyone else. I suggest burning it after you read it. _

_ I'll be thinking of you all,_

_ Harry_

Ron read the letter again, not quite believing it. Harry had left? _Where did he go?_ he wondered.

"Ron! Harry!" Ginny's voice sang outside the door. "It's time to get up. Are you decent?"

"Yeah," Ron said hurriedly, trying to find a place to hide the letter. Ginny opened the door, frowning at his tone. It occurred to him that her name was on the letter as well, he didn't need to hide it.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes flicking to Harry's still-made-up bed. She sat beside him, peeling the letter from his hands. _He says he's safe, and Lupin will keep him that way, _he told himself in order to shove his worry for his friend away.

"He… he left?" Ginny asked, staring at the letter with wide eyes for a long moment. Ron waited beside her for her to snap out of it. She shook herself, handing the letter to Ron. "Hide this for now," she ordered shakily. "I'm going to rush downstairs and tell Mum Harry's not upstairs. Come down if Mum calls you, or in ten minutes."

"Why?" he asked as she made for the door to the stairs. She turned to him, a glare in her eye.

"Because we don't know where he is, Ron," she said, clearly forcing down tears. "We're not even meant to know he's safe. Let's act panicked, and keep his secret, OK?"

"Right," he said hurriedly, hoping to derail her before she got really steamed up. "Right, OK. I'm going back to sleep, like I haven't even noticed." Ginny rolled her eyes as she marched down the stairs.

"Harry's not up there!"

A/N: Sorry it took so long, I forgot that I hadn't posted this. My badness. Yeah, so there you go. It's slightly shorter, but I think it's OK. I have to get to work on setting up my new iPod Touch, so I'll "talk" to all of you when you review.


	18. Chapter 18: Disappear

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

Ron waited by the front door of Grimmauld Place, waiting for his sister and Hermione. They'd sat in on an Order meeting, the third time since Harry left, and that had been finished for ages. _Everyone else left,_ he thought, annoyed. _Why are they taking so long?_

He went back up the stairs to the meeting room, on the third floor. He knocked on the door.

"Come in," a voice said. Ron entered as Remus opened the door. Hermione and Ginny sat at the meeting table, each reading something.

"What's going on?" he asked, leaning over Hermione in attempt to read her parchment. She clutched the paper to her chest, spinning and standing.

"He's safe and happy!" she cried, throwing herself around Ron, laughing. As much as Ron enjoyed hugging her, he was downright confused with his

"Who is?" Ron asked, feeling stupid. Remus held out a yellow envelope and smiled. "What's that?

"A letter I was meant to give you as soon as I could," Remus said, " but i was delayed by the moon. It's from Harry." Ron snatched the letter, pushing Hermione away gently in order to tear the back open, and reading:

_Dear Ron,_

_ I know it's been nearly a month since you've heard from me, and I hope you'll forgive my lateness with this letter. Things have been busy. _

_ Remus says I can tell you everything, so I will. I actually can't tell you where I am, map-wise, because I'm essentially not sure. But I'm at an institute designed to help were-creatures survive despite lack of employment options. _

_ I've met two were-creatures, cross-breeds of animals with humans. My teachers are werephoenix, and a werecat. I've seen dozens of other creatures here, but none who've introduced themselves aside from my teachers. _

_ I've learnt a lot. The most useful thing I think I've learnt is the wandless spells. Obviously I can't do larger spells without my wand, but most of the forth year charms and things I can manage. Almost every spell I use now is wordlessly cast, regardless of difficulty. _

_ I've even learnt to Apparate, though I don't have my license yet. I'm hoping to return within the next month, if everything goes well. _

_ I've been feeling badly about not giving you a proper explanation when I left. I'm tired of fighting Dumbledore on every little thing I do, and when I'm here I'm an adult. I'm being trained now, trained to kill. I hate looking at it like that. I'm being trained to survive. Survive long enough to see you, Ginny and Mione again. _

_ I'm not coming to Hogwarts this year, but I might join in the middle of term if all goes well. I'm ending this war soon, and then I'll finish my schooling properly. Paz, my combat teacher and a werecat, says I'm past NEWT level anyways. Still, I'm missing Hogwarts already._

_ If you can, pass a letter on to Remus, and he'll pass it to me. I want to know what you've been doing while I'm away. I want to know if you've really sat in on meetings. Remus tells me you're good, but I want to hear from you everything. Are you still dating Hermione? Is Ginny OK? How are Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? Your brothers? _

_ Try to write soon. I miss you, mate._

_ Till next time,_

_ Harry_

"See?" Hermione squealed. "He's happy!"

* * *

Harry rolled on the hard metal and leapt to his feet, eyes searching the mist through broken lenses. _Etienne is in here somewhere,_ he told himself. He ignored the sting of his bruises from the scrape with Etienne a moment ago. He'd gotten away with his mock knife, meaning the game was still on; _you just have to find him. _

"Be aware of your surroundings, Harry," Etienne's voice warned, echoing through the metallic gangways of the factory.

His surroundings: stairwell to the left, railing to the right. The lower gangway was close enough that he could jump to it from here. The stairwell led up to the upper level—too far to jump down from because of the angle—and down two levels.

_Where next? _He tried to force his mind to find a place for Etienne to be hiding. Metal clinked behind him, and he whirled, continuing down the walkway. The only sounds were his own breath in the dark, wet air.

The walls were solid cement, no nooks or shelves. Etienne might be inhumanly strong, but not enough to smash a large enough hole to lurk in, especially if the goal of the game was silence.

Harry passed a T intersection and took the off-way, peering over the edge. He saw Etienne below, looking around as Harry had been a moment before. Feathers flashed and Harry pulled back, hoping Etienne hadn't seen him, here in the open between two main gangways.

He slowed his breathing, quieting himself. He peered over the edge once more—

"Too slow," Etienne rumbled, emerging behind Harry silently. Harry felt the man's knife against his throat. "You always lose during physical combat, boy. You need to memorize this stealth, if you're disarmed you need to be able to disappear. The game-"

_Disappear. _Harry did just that, twisting out of his teacher's grip. He gripped the railing and swung himself over, grabbing the bottom of the gangway's grate. He pulled his legs up and rested his feet against the grate's support joint as he released his grip on the railing.

He dangled below Etienne as the man swivelled in a flurry of movement, searching for him.

"You've improved," he said softly, talons clicking as he moved toward the left, away from his mock target. "You've learned to be no more than shadow, slipping from the grip of those who hold you."

Harry crawled along the underside of the gangway, moving toward the level below. If he managed to get above it, he could drop to it.

He landed lithely on all fours, glancing around. He didn't see Etienne on this level. Straightening, he rushed to the stairwell in silence. He looked down and up, hoping to see or hear Etienne. _I hate these sessions, useful as they are._ He sighted Etienne a level up, moving toward the stairwell.

Pulling back far enough to hide in the shadows of the landing, he pulled a small piece of piping from his pocket. He threw it at an angle down the stairs, wincing at the clatter two levels down, the ground floor.

Etienne's head whipped to the sound, he moved, like a ghost, soundlessly down the stairs. As he rounded the landing to the next set of stairs, Harry pounced, resting his own knife against the man's neck. He was too short to reach the man's neck past his wings, making the ridiculous piggyback-like move necessary.

"Too sure," he murmured, dangling from the man's back. He used one hand to slide Etienne's knife from its sheath, holding himself up with his legs. "Did you forget you taught me about diversions?"

"Yes," Etienne replied with a chuckle. "And I forgot to take your knife."

"The game is over," Harry said, sliding down. Etienne smiled as he turned to face his pupil.

"You win this one, Harry. Go, and eat a well-deserved lunch. We're done here for the day."

Harry bowed to his teacher and slid past him, handing the knife back. He began down the stairs, grabbing his piece of pipe and sheathing his own knife against his hip.

"By the way," Etienne called. Harry looked up at him, a level below. "Remus mentioned he had letters earlier."

A/N: There you go, you non-reviewing cretins. Seriously, this is making me anxious. I don't think the story sucks, but it's obviously not good either. 'Cause only 40 people (OK, 39) have read the last chapter, and I've got only 18 reviews in total. I at least expected being begged to update. Maybe I need to work on my suspense skills. Whatever. You'll get the next chapter by Wed., you cretins.


	19. Chapter 19: Prophecy

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

"Etienne says you've mastered the art of moving with the shadows," Paz purred as she threw Harry to the ground. He rolled to his feet as he had in the factory simulation, pulling his fists back up to his face as he moved back into defensive position, ignoring the blood dribbling from his cheekbone.

"I beat him today," he grunted, landing a punch on Paz's side. She grabbed his hand and twisted, trying to break his wrist. He took the momentum and spun out of her grip. "But this is taking a bit too long."

"The training must be thorough, Harry," she told him, continuing the fight. "If there's a gap in your knowledge, it could prove fatal." She lunged at him, tackling him, pinning him to the dirt of the training yards. He felled a blow onto Paz, rolling on top of her, pinning her wrists.

"Fatal, not for me," he panted, as she struggled against him, unable to use her legs because he'd placed his calves over hers, "but for him."

"Too sure," she said, a phrase he often used, as she freed a knee to jab him in the gut. "If you die, we all die. No one else can stop him, so an extra month will save the lives of those who would die if you did, despite the deaths it would cause."

She ignored his sarcastic reply and slid onto her hind paws—him to his feet—and began circling slowly, both waiting for the other to show unsure footing. "Etienne also says Remus delivered letters?"

"Yes, he did," Harry informed. Paz struck out and Harry knocked her down to the ground with a side kick to the jaw she'd shown him his first day, where she stayed, and wiping purple blood from her mouth. "One from my best mate and one from my girl. I haven't read them yet, I was too bloody hungry."

"Girlfriend, Mr. Potter?" she laughed, reaching up to him with her thumbed paws. He pulled her up with a rueful smile, hoping he hadn't really hurt her. She was stronger than him, in any case, so he was doubtful he did.

"You sound surprised. Should I be offended?" he asked jokingly. She chuckled.

"I never figured you for one," she answered seriously. He watched her shimmery black tattoo shift beneath her near-invisible fur.

"Meaning?" he asked as they began towards the showers separate from the main building, a castle-like manor that still amazed him with its beauty. Paz smiled, blushing.

"Oh, well, nothing, really. Just that you seemed like the type who—"

"Harry!" an oh-so-familiar voice called. There was no way that voice could be here. School had started for her, how—? He turned from Paz, confused.

Ginny Weasley stood in the door to the manor house, her red hair loose, tumbling around her pale, freckled face in waves. He could see her teeth flashing against her pink lips in a smile identical to the one he felt on his own lips—lips craving the girl ahead of him. He started towards her at a trot.

Remus and Tonks, who had apparently brought Ginny here to see him, gave her a small push, and she met him halfway.

He forgot the fact he was bleeding, covered in sweat and dirt. He reached up with his support-gauze-wrapped hands, resting his hands on her neck, leaning in to kiss her gently.

* * *

"He was fighting with _what?"_ Hermione demanded angrily. It was one thing for Ginny to sneak out of Hogsmeade with an Auror friend and Remus, but to tell such a tall tale, why, it was profoundly offensive.

"I swear, Hermione, a werecat," Ginny insisted, whispering in the dark of the midnight moon's glow in the common room. "He also said his other teacher was a werephoenix, whatever that is, and that he hoped to defeat Riddle by Christmas."

"How does he propose to do that? Why does he have to?" Hermione cried, forgetting to keep her voice down.

"Sh!" Ginny scolded. "I'm supposed to tell Ron, too. Where is he, by the way?" Hermione rolled her eyes, making the younger girl laugh.

"Sleeping," she sighed. Ginny laughed again. She was in a wonderful mood ever since she snuck out to see Harry that afternoon. "He's like a rock!"

"Maybe I should wait…" she mused."It's not news I want to repeat…"

"I'll tell Ron, Ginny. Just tell me!" she begged from her seat by the ember-filled fire. Ginny flopped into the chair across from Hermione, smiling still. Her red hair glowed in the moonlight's silver light, and smoldered in the red glow of the embers.

"OK," the younger girl whispered. "But promise you won't breathe a word of this to a single soul aside from Ron?"

"I promise," Hermione promised hurriedly. "Just tell me. I want answers to my questions three: why did he leave, why does he feel he has to fight You-Know-Who alone, and how does he plan to do that?"

"OK," Ginny said again. "He left us to get some sort of training; he's been doing combat lessons, both physical and magical, as well as sorts of wordless conjuring, even wandless. He's healthy and he practically glowed with his happiness—"

"Focus, Ginny," Hermione snapped as her friend began to get a romantic gleam in her eyes. Ginny stuck her tongue out at Hermione and continued.

"He left to get training. There's question number one. As to why he feels he has to do it… ah, this is the part I didn't want to repeat… OK," she said even more softly. "Harry made me memorize it… _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. …_ Oh, bloody hell, what was the next bit?" Ginny screwed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose in effort to remember the wording to whatever it was she was repeating.

_"And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."_

Hermione sat in silence as she dissected the odd things Ginny had said. Ginny waited for Hermione to snap out of her trance like state.

_July 31st,_ she thought, ticking off specifications in her head. _Parents who have defied You-Know-Who at least three times, "marked" by him… It all fits Harry, but what it means is kill or be killed. _

"It's the prophecy from your fifth year. It means that, one way or another, Harry's war will end in murder."

* * *

"Shush, Ron! People might hear, we're not in the Room yet," she snapped as she paced, waiting for the DA room to appear. She, Ron and Ginny had continued with the DA despite the instruction in Defense as provided by a woman surnamed Finch, a cousin of Remus Lupin.

"I know, sorry, but, bloody hell!" Ron replied, running his gangly hand though his very high-up hair. The too-long curls fell into his eyes with an adorable comma, and Hermione reached up to brush it away before she thought about the fact she was reaching up to brush Ron's hair away from his eyes. He looked at her, then his eyes flickered down to her lips. He began to lean down to her, as if he wanted to kiss her, but she pulled away, surprised.

His eyes widened above cheeks that turned an embarrassed pink, looking away as he opened the door to the DA room.

The DA room was just as Hermione remembered it, shelves of books, pillows, rubber chickens, dummies… You name it; the Room of Requirement had provided it. She hurried into the room, not looking at Ron, rushing to the small desk in the northeast corner.

She placed her notes on the table, ignoring the poster Neville had insisted they put up on the mirrored walls.

_HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WIZARD? _it read, showing a picture of Harry's sixteen-year-old face. Strange how much different he looked from last November, when that picture had been taken.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered softly. Hermione looked up at him from her spells list, and noticed he wasn't talking to her, but the trainer he was scuffing across the linoleum.

"Make the first move, my sister says…" he was murmuring, "then Mione goes and—"

"So," Hermione interrupted, trying to make it seem like she wasn't interrupting. "Um, we should set up. Ginny will be here soon…"

"Yeah," he said awkwardly, not meeting her eyes. "Is it that really what Ginny said Harry said? About the prophecy?"

"Yes, it is," she answered, shaking off her own embarrassment. "So we need to figure out what to do to help Harry. I think," she added as an afterthought.

"Maybe we should convince Lupin to take us to where ever he is," Ron suggested, meeting her eyes again. "I mean, if we're going to help him we should be with him, right? As long as Dumbledore is at Hogwarts it's not like You—I mean, V-Voldemort— will attack with him here."

"Right," she agreed. "But if he did attack Hogwarts, we should be here to defend the school."

"That's what the teachers are for, heck, that's what the DA is for!" he argued. "_We_ should be with Harry."

"I'm not disagreeing," Hermione said softly. "But this will have to wait till later. Hey, Neville! You're here early." Their awkward friend nodded.

"Yeah, I am. Listen, Luna's going to be here in about half-an-hour, she said something about a Weakley infecting her spleen and went to the Owlery."

"Why wouldn't she go to the hospital wing if she's infected with a… a whatever?" Ron asked thickly.

"Maybe owl poop cures it, how should I know?" Neville asked with a shrug and strangely happy smile. As he told Hermione and Ron about the creature Luna had told him about the other day, they exchanged a look.

_Someone's smitten,_ Ron's look said to her. She nodded and stifled a giggle.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry I called you all cretins... Well, no I'm actually not. Anyway, this chapter is alot longer than the others, almost 1700 without counting the disclaimer or A/N. Not that any of you will complain, lol. Yeah, so... Next chapter will PROBABLY be up on Saturday, if I can get it done... Having a bit of trouble with Hermione, she won't do what I want without it sounding fake. Oh well. _


	20. Chapter 20: Location

**(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch companies.)**

Harry placed Ginny's letter down, knowing he should sleep if he ever wanted to be ready for his run around the lake the next day. He extinguished his candle with a wave of his hand and settled down for the night.

_He found himself in a luxurious bedroom, in which soft candlelight burned and the remains of a meal lay on a bedside table. Bellatrix Lestrange stood in front of him, bowing meekly._

_"My Lord, plans are in place. The location of Potter's hideout is known and not enough time has passed for him to be a hindrance. Our plans are in motion," she said, a distinct note of pleasure in her voice. Harry watched through Voldemort's eyes as Bella knelt, afraid of his prolonged silence._

_"Very good, Bella," he hissed though Voldemort's mouth. "This will be the first step in ensuring my ultimate victory." The pressure in his Harry's head, or mind, since he was in Voldemort's own head, was intense, but he couldn't break away._

_"Potter is getting stronger; I can feel it. The time to strike is now. Have Narcissa and Lucius find his little girlfriend, the Weasley boy, and that Mudblood he associates with. With them to persecute, Potter will give himself up willingly..."_

_Bella rose from her knees with him beckon._

_"Tell me, my love," she whispered, approaching him on his throne. Her thoughts revealed her sick passion for him to be stirred. "How are we to capture him?"_

_"Painfully. As for his foolish friends—wait! Quiet, Potter is here now—" Bella drew her wand and spun, searching. _

_The scene broke off with a blast of white that seemed to shimmer before him. His head felt like it had been split down the middle, and he gasped at the intensity of it. Suddenly, he found himself back with the Death Eaters, in his pitiful cell, huddled on the floor while Lucius Malfoy's cold, blue eyes glared down upon him._

_"Come, Mr. Potter. Certainly, the 'Hero of the Wizarding World' can withstand more than this? A pitiful excuse for a hero you are. What would your loyal fans say if they could see you now, hmm? Cowering on the floor and crying like a little boy. Pitiful," he said, sighing and blasting yet another round of the Cruciatus at Harry. _

_Harry's vision blurred as white mask after white mask launched a variety of hexes. He tried to shield his body with his hands, but there were too many to keep up with the ferocity with which they were aimed._

_Harry struggled to get away, but the pain became stronger and stronger, and he was powerless to stop it. He was helpless yet again. He wished for death to stop the hurting, and realized he had lost hope. He began to scream…_

Harry jerked awake, sitting with a gasp. His heart was pounding, his arms were shaking. He reached up and rubbed his clammy face; his hair was drenched in sweat. He glanced over at his clock, reading half-five. It was only thirty minutes before he had to get up, which was oddly convenient.

He flung back his tangled covers and made his way down the empty hall to the shower room four doors down. He entered silently, flicking on the water and standing beneath the spray of near-scalding water, hoping the sense of unease would fade.

_There's something important about that dream I'm not realizing_… He screwed his eyes shut and tried to remember, but it was like trying to cup water between his hands. It ran out too quickly.

_Bellatrix and Voldemort… had found a location… Location for _what? he wondered. Should he tell Remus about the vague dream in class after his run? It seemed like the best thing to do.

He mulled over the dream as he ran around the lake, hoping his mind would snap into clarity.

* * *

"Location for what?" Remus asked. His pupil sighed, shaking his head at his work. Remus was still amazed with the changes he'd seen in Harry since the young man had come to Haven. Remus remembered a young boy with a thin face and weak sense of self.

Now, Harry seemed stronger physically and mentally, though there was a vibe, or aura, coming off him that Remus didn't like. It was almost as if Harry's determination to win over You-Know-Who was larger than his desire to survive. Which was ridiculous, of course Harry wanted to live, he wasn't suicidal or desperate.

"I don't know," he said, sounding uncharacteristically flustered. "I've been getting weird flashes of his feelings since I ran this morning, but I don't know what he's planning, he won't let me see."

"Try to remember, Harry."

"I've been trying!" cried the younger man, throwing his quill onto his parchment, splattering the spell list with ink. "The details are fuzzy, and then it morphed into a basic nightmare."

"How often have you been having nightmares?" Remus asked, concerned. Harry rolled his very green eyes behind his glasses.

"That is so _not_ one of my priorities right now, Remus," Harry said sardonically. "But this is my first vision in nearly two months. Something made Voldemort drop his shield last night and let me through. Whether he meant to or not is what I need to know."

"How do we tell?" Remus asked, not sure they'd be able to even tell if this vision wasn't planted like the one that had led to Sirius's death was. "What's the difference?"

"He forced me out, I didn't try to leave, which I think means he didn't mean for me to hear his plans. And Bella was there, I know she was…"

Remus repressed the shiver he always felt when Harry would speak of You-Know-Who's minions with familiarity, like he knew them each personally.

"If I could remember we could intercept him… He mentioned four or five people. I think he marked them on his hit list." Harry had leant forward and was now frowning with concentration.

"If it's important, Harry, then you'll remember. If it's nothing you can stop, then it doesn't matter anyways," Remus said, hoping to distract his student from such dark thoughts.

"It was important," Harry muttered stubbornly. He reached for his quill, however, continuing to search the best spells to use in Harry's idea of the final duel. "It was very important. Just wait till the walls fall down around my ears and all my plans go down the drain."

"_Your_ plans don't make sense, Harry. You can't take on You-Know-Who alone."

"Yeah, I could," Harry said with a certainty that confused Remus. "And I'll have too, eventually anyway, so I should do it on my own terms."

"Can you do it without dying?"

"I can last long enough to take him with me."

* * *

"So you're saying we should leave Hogwarts, find Remus, and convince him to take us to Harry?" Ron asked. Hermione and Ginny rolled their eyes in unison. _I hate girls sometimes,_ Ron thought, annoyed. _They gang up on you and don't fight fair._

"No," Hermione corrected, looking up from her essay in the near-empty common room. "Remus is visiting us next Hogsmeade weekend and taking us there. We don't have to search for him."

"Which is when?" he asked. Ginny sighed.

"Bloody hell, this is going to take longer than I thought," she muttered. "It's next week, October 25th, the last one before Hallowe'en. Remus is coming to the castle for an Order meeting on the twentieth, which is tomorrow, and we'll talk to him afterwards."

"Are we sitting in?" he asked. It seemed to him that the whole plan of meeting with Remus hung on that. And they hadn't sat in on a meeting since school began, though Dad had tried to keep them updated.

"No, but I've already sent Remus a message to meet us in the shortcut passage outside of the Transfiguration room," Hermione explained.

"Does he know where that is?" he asked, wincing internally as soon as he said it. _He's a Marauder, you idiot, _he berated himself. Ginny echoed his thoughts out loud, down to the last word.

"Ron's not an idiot," Hermione murmured softly. "He's just right." Ron's heart pounded and he felt a blush creeping onto his face.

"Someone's got a requited crush," Ginny put in, smirking. Ron smacked her upside the head not hard, but not gently either.

"We don't like each other like that," Hermione lied. Ginny's smirk turned into gleeful laughter.

"I didn't say it was you two, but funny how you knew that's what I meant," she chuckled. "Ron, take Hermione down to the kitchen's to have some hot chocolate or something."

"We'd get caught—" Hermione began. Ron winked at Ginny and grabbed Hermione's hand, effectively dismissing her worries.

* * *

A/N: Sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry! It's been a week, usually I'm faster. Sorry! Sorry! OK, so I have no news, other than I'm moving, so later in the month you'll get about three updates at once, then I'll return to regular pacing.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21: Rooms

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to Miss JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch/mother companies.)

* * *

Remus waited near Eyelop's Owl Emporium, feeling unnecessarily nervous. It was one thing to take Harry from the safety of Hogwarts; it was another to sneak three more children into Haven.

_They're not children anymore, _he reminded himself. He knew Etienne, the one who ran the place, didn't mind the opportunity to observe the behavior of three more pure humans, however, the rest of the were-creatures mayn't take so well to them.

And then there was Molly Weasley to contend with when she was notified her children had gone missing while in Hogsmeade. Remus had managed to convince the teens to leave a note stating that they had decided to join Harry in a safe place, but not where or who had taken them there.

"Remus!" a voice whispered. He looked around, seeing he was still alone. "Harry left his Cloak at the Burrow, we're under it."

"Oh. Well, then. Follow me, the Portkey is back in the woods," he said, hoping they would remove the Cloak soon. How they fit all three of the tall teens underneath the material was beyond him.

Sure enough, as soon as they were under cover of the trees Ginny flung the Cloak off, shoving it into her rucksack. "Un-shrink me!" Ron demanded.

Remus saw they girls had shrunk Ron in order to fit under the Cloak, who now sat like a pixie on Hermione's shoulder.

"That's cute," he commented as Hermione enlarged him. Ron glared as he shot up.

"Shut up. It was so _not_ cute," he growled. Remus laughed, pulling the deflated tire from the low tree branch it hung on. "Besides, Ginny wasn't _brave _enough to allow herself to be shrunk."

"No, not exactly," Ginny corrected, flicking her now-normal-sized brother in the temple, needing to rise to her tip-toes to do so. "You were the one who was too tall to fit under." Ron snorted, muttering under his breath.

"Does Harry know we're coming?" Hermione asked, grasping the Portkey that Remus held out.

"No, I didn't tell him," he answered, keeping an eye on his watch. "Grab on, Ron, Ginny. We'll be leaving in three… two… one…" The familiar tug of a Portkey hooked their navels, and, with a flash of blue light, they were gone.

* * *

Harry sat, sweating, holding up a shield as Etienne and Paz flung curses at it. He didn't have his wand and wasn't supposed to be firing back, but the temptation to do so was getting to him.

"Calm your emotions, Harry," Etienne said as he lazily flicked off various burning curses. "Remain vigilant, concentrate on nothing but diverting spells."

_Divert,_ Harry realized. He should be deflecting the spells, not absorbing them. He closed his eyes and tried to change his shield, grasping at the element of the magic.

Paz's yell yanked him out of his reverie. He opened his eyes to see Etienne moving to tend to a deep cut on her shoulder. He dropped his shield, moving to his teachers.

"Very good, Mr. Potter," Paz ground out. "You managed to redirect the cutting curse perfectly. I aimed for your shoulder, and I got hit. Perfect, if I do say so myself."

Etienne looked up from his healing work to nod at Paz's words, his red eyes focused on Harry. "Ouch," Paz complained; Etienne's feather-tipped fingers were hard and sharp as steel, pulling at her wound as he healed it without looking.

"My apologies," he murmured, still focused on Harry. "That was _near_-perfect, Harry. What you need to work on now is formatting the shield to work like a one-way mirror so your own curses can go through. Also, try to keep a one-way shield around your mind as well; it's your only sanctuary in a war like the one waging beyond these walls."

"You mean Occlumency?" Harry questioned, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Etienne nodded, his teeth clicking as he let out a warbling laugh.

"Yes, precisely. Now, off to your room. Clean yourself up before dinner," he ordered Harry. "We're expecting guests."

"Yes, sir. Sorry about hurting you, Paz."

"Never a problem, Harry," she called as he left the training room. In some ways, the werecat reminded Harry of Tonks. They were both very much free spirits, always laughing and smiling. _The world needs more laughter,_ Harry thought.

* * *

Hermione began to feel dizzy, spinning in the blue osmosis, as she lurched to a stop. She reached out to steady herself, landing her grip on Ron's arm. She slid her grip down, squeezing his hand.

The room they were in was very majestic, almost imposing. Twin, curving staircases ran up to upper walkways, windows revealing a beautiful landscape. The red stucco walls were lined with bookcases, where not covered in windows and columns.

"This is beautiful," she breathed. A pair of curtains to Hermione's right rustled, drawing her attention from the mosaic ceiling. A short man shut a door hidden behind the curtains of the second last window before the stairs, nearly twenty feet ahead.

"Harry!" Ginny yelled, sprinting to him immediately. The man turned, and Hermione struggled to recognize him. The last time she'd seen him he was undernourished and peaky. Now, he looked lean, but strong and healthy, with colour showing beneath his normal pallor.

"What's—" he began, before Ginny silenced him with a kiss. Hermione giggled as Ron looked away, shaking his head. She pulled him over to see Harry, as the younger couple broke apart, though maintaining their grip on the other, Ginny tall enough to rest her cheek on Harry's head. "What are you guys doing here?" he asked.

"We came to see you," Ron said. "Actually, we came to train with you." Harry paled, pulling from Ginny to look into her eyes, shocked. Hermione couldn't release the fact that Ginny was taller than Harry, by perhaps ten centimeters.

"It's true, Harry. We thought, if you're to fight him in the end, you should fight with us at your back," she murmured. Harry bit his lip, shutting his eyes.

"How could you let them come here, Remus?" Harry demanded, turning to the adult o few steps behind the action. Remus bristled under Harry's criticism.

"Etienne granted permission—"

"Obviously you went through the right process, that's not what I… Haven is the location!" he cried. Hermione noticed Remus's reaction switch polar ends.

"You're sure?" he asked. Harry nodded, squeezing Ginny's hand what looked to be very painfully. "And the hits you mentioned?"

"Them," Harry said, looking very young all of a sudden. A long pause followed. Harry watched Remus, and Hermione turned her gaze to the older wizard. He looked down, frowning and thinking.

"I need to speak with Etienne about this," he said finally. He crossed the room at close to a run, allowing a bookcase to slide into the floor before rushing into the room behind the secret door.

"Harry," Ginny said. He looked at her, breaking his stare at where Remus had disappeared to.

"I had a vision last night," he said sadly. The details were fuzzy, but Voldemort and Bellatrix were plotting. They placed hits on you three, and made plans to invade Haven."

"What's Haven?" Ron asked thickly. Harry pulled Ginny into another hug as he answered.

"This is Haven; the owner, Etienne, used his inheritance to build training yards and libraries here. It's used to be a… well, a safe haven for were-creatures. I'm here to be trained…" He trailed off.

"Harry," Ginny said again. He looked up at her. "We're safe. Besides, we're with you."

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "But this was really bad idea." Someone tapped Hermione's shoulder, surprising her. She spun with a gasp.

The strangest woman Hermione had ever seen stood in front of her. It was almost as if the woman had tried to Polyjuice herself into a snowy cat and been stuck halfway. She had slitted pupils, a furred and pierced face, and her nose was nearly perfectly flat, and most certainly pink.

"Hey, Paz," Harry said tiredly. The woman smiled, her piercings twinkling.

"Hello, hello, Harry," the cat-like Paz greeted him. "And another hello to Miss Ginny, it seems. As for the other two—" Her gaze flicked to Hermione, tail twitching. "—I am lacking introductions. I'll have to drill you in manners later, Mr. Potter."

"Sorry, Paz," Harry laughed, releasing Ginny. "My friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, have decided to join me in my training."

"This doesn't arouse my interest, though I think the fact that Haven is the location is telling," she purred. Harry nodded, chewing a lip. "However, shouldn't we provide rooms for Hermione Granger and Ron Weasel? Follow me."

"Um, the name's Weasley," Ron said awkwardly.

"Oh?" Paz said, falling onto all fours to trot along side Ron. Hermione stifled a laugh as Harry and Ginny followed her up the stairs. "Not Ron, but Weasley? Weasley Weasel and Miss Granger then."

Harry chuckled quietly as Ron tried to get Paz to say his name correctly. "Weasley Ronaldo?" she tried, rising to her hind legs as they reached the top of the stairs.

"No, just Ron Weasley, like Harry said earlier," Ron cried his ears turning red as the other three teens laughed at the joke. Hermione felt bad about laughing at him, and took his hand, squeezing gently.

"I see, Ron Weaslike," she corrected herself, stopping in front of a door. "Ginny, this should suit you nicely." She swept it open with a grand gesture, and Hermione saw a very plain, white-walled room, perfectly neat save for a half-empty dustbin beside the dresser.

"Paz, this is _my_ room," Harry pointed out. Paz nodded cheerfully, her cat-ears twitching.

"Yes, I've taken the liberty of enlarging your bed so two can fit," she explained. Harry furrowed his brow, and glanced at his girlfriend, who seemed as bemused as he did.

Relieved as she was that Harry and Ginny seemed embarrassed enough for her to assume they hadn't shared a bed before, she was apprehensive about what Paz might do with her and Ron, if she had gathered they were a couple.

"Bloody hell!" My baby sister and Harry aren't going to be sharing a bloody room—let alone a bed!" Ron cried, indignant.

"Why not, Monsieur Ronealsey?" Paz asked. "Hermione, Wesley—" Hermione stifled another giggle. "—if you'll follow me to your rooms?"

* * *

A/N: I have absolutely nothing to say. But neither do my readers, so I'm not that worried.


	22. Chapter 22: Awkward

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to Miss JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch/mother companies.)

* * *

"This is awkward," Harry pointed out as Ginny returned from the shower room. He stared at her momentarily, her pajamas a size too small so they were tight in all the right places, amazed by her beauty. Her red hair, fiery as her temper, hung to her waist in wet ringlets, accentuating her pink lips that Harry craved to kiss.

"Yeah," she agreed, placing her bag of toiletries on the dresser. "I wonder how Hermione and Ron are doing in their room."

He nodded, agreeing silently as he stared at her, sitting against the wall his bed touched. He'd argued with Etienne about how neither of them was comfortable with this, though that had not lasted long. Etienne had listened to Harry for about twelve seconds before giving Harry his reasons—no vacancies for three other teens, but for one and they made do—and effectively dismissing him.

"Beg pardon?" he asked, realizing he'd completely missed whatever Ginny had asked him. Her cheeks turned a light pink, as she lowered her gaze for a split second.

"What on earth are you thinking about that had you so distracted?" she demanded. She pulled herself next to him on the bed, taking his hand onto her lap.

"I was just thinking you beautiful you are," he said truthfully. She rolled her eyes, scoffing.

"Sure you were."

"I was! What makes you think you're not?" he asked, seeing the real reason for her disbelief. She coloured again, pursing her lips before answering.

"Well, for one thing, I have freckles," she said, looking up at him. He laughed, surprised she thought this was a drawback.

"After I left one of the things I missed most was your freckles," he told her. "All three thousand and seven of them."

"I'm short," she said, looking away. He almost forgot how to breathe he was so shocked by this.

"You're taller than me," he pointed out. "You're only short compared to Ron, and who's not compared to that giant?"

"I'm not taller than you," she said stubbornly. He ordered her to her feet with a chuckle. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, and Harry looked up at her shocked face.

"Oh my gosh, I am!" she cried, her mouth forming a perfect O for a moment. "When did you shrink? I wasn't always taller…" He shrugged.

"See? Not short enough. So what else is the problem?" She stared at him for a long moment, and then looked down at her chest as they stood in the center of the room.

"I'm not exactly well endowed," she muttered. He reached up, brushing the side of her breast with his fingers.

"I like them. I think they're quite fascinating." She giggled, pulling his hand away to kiss him thoroughly.

"You would, rogue," she murmured. He pulled her to the bed once more, lying with her nestled under his arm. "So, are we going to do anything we usually wouldn't?" He considered his options: one which was very intriguing, and the other that he knew was safe.

"I don't think we should," he said finally, "though don't get me wrong, I think it would be amazing. But I don't think we're ready."

She smiled at him, her chocolate eyes smoldering. "I'm glad you said that," Ginny murmured after a while. "I don't think we're ready either. That being said, I don't think this is entirely inappropriate."

Ginny leaned over and pressed her lips against his, and Harry through his inhibitions out the window.

* * *

_Ron is being unnecessarily suspicious of Harry,_ Ginny thought to herself over lunch. She didn't understand how Harry had done everything he'd done that morning and not ended up completely wiped.

Etienne and Paz put him through quite the pounding in something they called martial arts, before telling him to take a bit of a breather. They'd then showed Ron and Hermione the basic blocks and strikes, while Ginny was instructed by Harry, with him whispering the creatures weaknesses into her ear, pointing out what she'd need to know to get an edge against the werecat she'd be paired with.

When it was her turn, she held her own against Paz for about twenty seconds before the cat knocked her down with a blindingly fast roundhouse kick to the jaw.

Afterwards, Harry had relinquished his wand to his teachers, sitting in the middle of the training room they were using instead of the outdoor court. Ginny was thankful for the rain; she wasn't sure she could've lasted this long in the unseasonable heat outside without passing out.

He'd placed a pulsing, slightly purple shield around himself, and the creatures spent nearly half an hour firing curses at it, dodging their own spells as they bounced back out.

She hadn't been able to even summon a levitation charm without her wand, even with Remus's instruction.

Now Harry sat beside her, his hand stroking her knee fondly under the table as he carried out a conversation with Hermione. Ginny was trying to participate, but Harry's hand was very distracting.

Ron sat, glaring at Harry. Harry had been trying to ignore him since they sat in the mess hall with only a handful of other were-creatures, including someone Ginny thought was part turtle.

"OK, I have to ask," Harry said as Hermione jerked her head toward her own boyfriend. "Why are you glaring at me as though I'm the devil himself?"

"You and Ginny shared a bed last night," he said not shifting his glare as he stabbed a sausage as though it needed to be punished. "She's my baby sister, and I'm wondering what you did to her." Harry glanced at Ginny and she raised an eyebrow to him. She wasn't giving Ron an answer, he could if he so desired. She felt her look gave him those instructions without a shadow of a doubt.

"I'll let Ginny handle this one," Harry said, smiling smugly at her. Ron stuffed the sausage in his mouth, shifting his glare to his sister. Harry hid his smirk behind a glass as she turned to her brother.

"Let's just say, I'm not a baby anymore," she purred, getting the reaction she wanted out of all three older teens. Hermione's eyes widened, Ron's mouth fell open—which to be honest wasn't smart of her, the sausage was still in there—and Harry choked on his drink, sputtering at her words.

"I'm thankful Harry's as shocked as we are," Hermione muttered, turning her widened eyes to her plate. "Or else we'd actually have to be concerned."

"Alright, enough speculation of our non-existent sex lives," Ron declared, ears very red as he stood. "Let's get to our next class."

"What is our next class, Harry?" Ginny asked, latching herself to his arm. He smirked.

"It's a stealth class. Cloaking charms, diversion tactics, moving as though you were nothing more than shadow," he said nonchalantly. Ginny looked around the hallway they were moving down. It was plastered with Muggle posters of bands, and she felt intrigued at the stillness of the photos.

"What do you mean; like a shadow?" Hermione asked, holding Ron's hand as the older couple trailed after her and Harry.

"Like a shadow, silently, invisible," he said, shrugging. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Without a Cloak or a spell you can't be invisible," she pointed out. All of a sudden, Harry slid from her grasp and the three teens were alone in the hall. "Harry?" she called, not knowing where they where going, or where they were.

She heard him laugh somewhere behind them and shook her head. He just had to prove her wrong, didn't he?

* * *

A/N: Thanks to the Wolf at Bay for the review: I tried to get this up as fast as I could for you! For the rest of y'all, I'm away in Minneapolis for a week, doing an interview at a boarding school there, so there might not be an update 'till before I move, which is a 90 percent certainty so far. So yeah, I'll update as soon as I can, promise.


	23. Chapter 23: Situation

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to Miss JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch/mother companies.)

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**A/N: I am SO SORRY! I know, it's been ages since I updated, I'm horrible, I know! Please don't slam on me too hard for the inexcusable delay! I know the delay is inexcusable, but I'm going to make excuses anyway. I had to pack all my shit, er, things to move, I had to get a visa to live in the States for school, I had to get a bus ticket down to Good Hope, I had to buy a plane ticket to Minneapolis, I had to quit my job, I had to say goodbye to my co-workers and friends... I'm SORRY!**

* * *

Harry chuckled as he sat in the rafters above Ginny. He'd used the windowsill to hop up to the hard wood he now rested on, and none of the three teens seemed to understand where he'd gone.

_Ginny is right though,_ a Hermione-like part of his mind told him. _You didn't use magic to get up here, it's all smoke and mirrors. _

He stood on the wooden beam, and began down the hallway below him, watching as his friends made their way in the same direction. They were headed to the only door in the hallway; one that led to the mid-level entrance to the gangways and stairs where Etienne would be waiting.

He dropped to the ground silently, the four where about ten feet from the door, and tapped on Ron's shoulder.

"Bloody hell!" his friend cried, spinning to face him. The girls followed suit.

"Where did you go?" Hermione asked. "There no corners or nooks that I can see, and you didn't use a spell, or we'd have heard you use the incantation—"

"He could've done it silently," Ginny put in. "He probably would've."

"This is true," he said, pulling the door open for them. They filed in, and Harry noticed Etienne wasn't at the railing like he always was. Harry heard voices down a few levels, though Etienne made a point to never make noise in the factory. Suddenly, Harry got a very bad feeling about all of this.

"So what are we—" Ron began. His words were interrupted by a rumble almost akin to an earthquake. Harry listened intently, hoping to hear what was going on.

"Sh," Harry whispered, moving to the railing silently. "Quiet for a second." He leant over the railing, and saw Etienne, six flights down. Three pillars of black stood with him, wands out. He could detect the third as Judson—his limp was pronounced even from this height. He jerked back before they could look up at see them.

He held a finger to his lips and motioned for his friends to follow him. He shut the door to the factory quietly, moving down the hall with his friends still following him. He stopped at the poster of ZZ Top and peeled the poster back to reveal a small tunnel.

"Harry? What'd you see?" Ginny asked. "What's with the tunnel?"

"There's Death Eaters in there with Etienne," he began. Hermione gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.

"We can't just leave him there!" she cried. "We need to help him—"

"He can fend for himself," Harry said, feeling thoroughly horrible. "I need to get you three out of here."

"Four of us are going to safety, Harry," Ginny put in, gripping his hand. He shook his head.

"I need to sound the alarm. You guys go ahead, I'll meet you in the safe room," he lied. He didn't think he'd make it to the safe room without being ambushed. He had been number one on Voldemort's hit list since his return; he knew he'd have to fight hard to actually get to the safe room. In any case, he would sound the alarm, and his teachers and the were-creatures would keep them safe.

"You're lying," Ginny whispered to him as Hermione hopped into the hole behind Ron. "You don't think you'll get to the room."

"I'll try my hardest, I promise you, but I doubt I'll be able to," he admitted, unable to lie to her this time.

"Then I'm coming with you," she snapped, pulling her wand from her pocket.

"No!" he nearly shouted, gripping her shoulders. "Please, Ginny, go with Hermione and Ron, they'll keep you safe."

"I can take care of myself," she began, pulling her shoulders free of his grip.

"Not against people like these. How can I put you in risk of what I know they'll do?" he demanded, hoping she'd understand his desperation.

"Do you think it's easy for me to let you run off into danger? You nearly died last time they took you!"

"Ginny! Harry!" Hermione called from within the depths of the tunnel. "Come on! This isn't time to mess around! You—"

Another quake-like rumble shook the building, and Harry dimly realized it was the wards coming down. He heard a menacing creak from above, and glanced up, instinct guiding him.

"Duck!" he screamed, pulling Ginny with him as he leapt backwards. He threw Ginny as far away as he could, her petite figure hopefully free of the falling ceiling.

Pain slashed at his face and leg, and he felt blackness beckoning for him.

* * *

"Harry!" Ginny yelled, scrambling to her feet after the roof fell in on them. She winced, knowing she'd have bruises come morning, if they were alive then. She pulled a section of plaster from his lower half, and was relieved to see no blood there, nor any apparent breaks. She pulled him free of the wreckage, wondering where the blood on the floor was from. He coughed, assuring her he was at least alive. He rolled off his stomach, and she gasped.

His left eye was a bloody mess, the gash trailing down his cheek nearly to his mouth. His glasses were broken, and he seemed quite unaware of both of these problems: his right eye was unfocused, and she could sense him clinging to the edges of consciousness.

"Harry," she said firmly, "focus."

"Ginny!" he cried, snapping out of it more quickly than she'd have believed possible. "I can't see you..."

He struggled to push himself up, obviously still dizzy. Ginny pulled him to his feet, moving to his right side. He raised a hand, shakily, and felt the damage to his vision.

"This is a bad situation, Harry," she said, using an amateur healing spell to staunch the blood pouring down his face.

"Nah," he said, obviously trying to placate her. "This isn't even a situation. I save that for when things get really bad. At least I have two eyes."

"No anymore," she muttered.

"Where's your wand?" he asked, looking down at her empty hands. "Did you drop it?" She glanced around, looking for her spruce and unicorn wand. "You must have... Take mine." He pressed his into her hand, kneeling to seize the pieces of spectacles.

"How are you going to fight, then?" she asked, casting a hurried _reparo_ on his glasses. He placed them on his face, still needing them for his lone eye.

"Wandless spells work as well as, um... wand_ful_ ones," he said, not making much sense. Cold laughter rang from above them, and Ginny was horrified to see Tom Riddle, the sexagenarian megalomaniac, swooping down upon them.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. It seems we meet again," the snake-man hissed, a forked tongue tasting the air. "I see I'm still in better shape than you, though you have no fear." Harry laughed, much to Ginny's surprise.

"Well, I'll have to be a lot worse off for this to be a fair fight. Sadly, I'm still the better wizard, even without a wand," he said, his show-hardy cockiness annoying even Ginny, who knew it was a show meant to enrage the Dark Lord into a mistake.

"Ah, a fatal error," Tom heckled. "Pointing out to your enemies what your own weaknesses are. It seems youth never learns." He raised his wand, beckoning a curse, "Crucio!"

Harry flung up his purplish shield, deflecting the curse to strike Tom square in the chest. The Dark Lord toppled with a yell, as black-robed witches and wizards filed from behind and above.

"OK," Harry whispered. "This might be a situation."

* * *

A/N: I'm also sorry for the shortness, and the un-double-checked writing. I also couldn't spell check it, because, fuck me, how the hell do you do it in Microsoft Word 07? I've had 03 all this time, the new program does not have a spell check button. I'll update again ASA(humanly)P. I apologise again. But Ooh! Getting close to the end now!


	24. Chapter 24: Defeat

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to Miss JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch/mother companies.)

* * *

Harry watched as minions hoisted Voldemort to his feet. Then all hell broke loose.

Half a dozen Death Eaters surrounded Ginny and him, all firing spells instantaneously. Harry quickly created a shield to block the first barrage, and three of the Death Eaters fell to his Stunners before more of them entered the hallway from all three sides—front, back and above.

His shield began to weaken under the heavy fire, and several of the curses broke through. He felt a Slicing Hex slash deeply into his upper arm, causing his fingers to tingle. He heard Ginny cry out as a Bludgeoning Hex hit her legs and felled her.

Harry sent out every spell he could think of, trying to cover Ginny as she struggled to stand on her now-injured ankle.

Some of them were unmasked, their hard faces showing a mixture of anticipation and excitement at having captured him. Others simply glared, leering as if they were finally given the opportunity to settle an old grudge.

"Hello, Potter," an unmasked Malfoy Sr. sneered. Harry smiled politely at him, not really caring for his insults now, more concerned about how he was going to get Ginny out of here so he could kill Voldemort.

"Accio girl!" someone yelled from behind Harry. He reached for Ginny's hand as she was pulled backwards, toppled off her already-unsteady feet. He grabbed her hand… and felt her fingers slip from his grasp.

A Death Eater dragged a protesting Ginny to her feet; discarding her wand and pulling her arms up behind her back, causing her whimper and double-over slightly. "Do as we say and she stays at Haven, safe," a vaguely familiar voice said. _Where have I heard that voice?_ Harry thought, racking his brain. He'd heard it recently…

"Come now, Mr. Potter," Voldemort sneered, circling to be nearer Ginny than Harry. "We all know you will do anything to protect this fiery redhead, so why don't we hurry the process along? Place you hands together, hold them out, that's it…" Harry gritted his teeth, regretting his movements with almost half his mind.

The other half was more sensible, and knew doing so would lead to one of two things: them actually leaving Ginny where she could be protected by Etienne, Paz, Remus, Ron and Hermione, or the more likely option of delaying his torture long enough to form a plan. "I believe my dear friend Fernando can shackle you."

An Irish man stepped forward, pulling out a wand and creating blue-flames that encircled his wrists, keeping them together. He stepped to the right, and into the void in Harry's sight.

"You'll find the flames shouldn't burn unless you struggle. They shouldn't at least. It's a hard spell, perhaps Fernando conjured them incorrectly," Malfoy sneered, coming forwards to take Harry's arm and Apparate.

"Harry!" Ginny yelled as he felt himself pulled away. He was squeezed, as though through a giant tube, and just when he thought he'd suffocate, he was thrown to the ground, just like when he was first taken all those months ago.

"Crucio!" Malfoy Jr. yelled, stepping forward out of the rough circle in a windowless, wooden stone walled room.

After indescribable pain, Harry ignored his burning wrists to pull himself to his feet.

"You'll find your fame and unearned glory mean nothing here," Malfoy said, as he rechecked the shackles encircling Harry's wrist. "I'd suggest you keep your mouth shut and do as you're told. There is nothing these fine witches and wizards would like more than to give you a lesson in manners."

Harry tried to blink the black spots from his eyes, refusing to be goaded by Malfoy. He could feel blood trickling down his cheek from his eye, and he tried to concentrate on that to block out the pounding in his skull. He wasn't in the best shape to face off with Voldemort, but it could be worse. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself.

"What's this? Nothing to say, Potter? No glib comment or sarcastic words to bolster your false bravado?" Malfoy asked, sneering.

Harry smiled humorlessly. "I'm just saving my lines for the big show. No need to waste them on the warm-up act."

Malfoy flushed, and Harry was backhanded again by one of the Death Eaters, knocking his glasses askew.

"You were warned to watch your tongue," Malfoy said silkily. "Fernando, show him how insolence is treated here."

A masked Death Eater turned toward Harry, raised his wand, and hissed, "_Crucio_."

Harry was struck square in the chest, intense pain spreading from impact out to all his nerve endings. He dropped to the ground, writhing and trying to contain his scream. He bit down on his already torn lip, the salty taste of blood filling his mouth. The pain built, overloading his senses and turning all his bones to liquid fire. The scream that was finally ripped from him felt as if it were tearing out his throat.

When the curse was eventually lifted – after what felt like an eternity to Harry – he lay on the ground, panting and feeling blood trickle from the corners of his mouth. Spitting it out, he raised himself up on shaky arms, staring defiantly at Malfoy and the Death Eater who had just cursed him so painfully. His wrists were now positively searing, blood running down to drip from his fingers.

Voldemort appeared, Ginny at his side, clearly Immobilized with a spell, wandless once more. Voldemort moved closer to Harry, thrusting Ginny into the arms of Bellatrix Lestrange. He came close to Harry, and Harry swung his fists with all his might, striking the snake's jaw.

Both Malfoys rushed forward from behind Voldemort and held Harry's arms at the Dark Lord's orders. "Diffindo," Riddle snarled, cutting deep in Harry's left arm, blood running from it causing the flue flames to crackle and burn once more.

Closer now, Harry restrained; Voldemort paused briefly before jabbing his finger deep into the cut, causing Harry's blood to coat his hand. Harry screamed, twisting his head and trying unsuccessfully to pull away. Voldemort kept up the pressure until Harry began to see black spots on the edge of his vision.

"You've been nothing but a thorn in my side since your birth," Voldemort hissed in Harry's ear, his breath warm and much too close. "You're like salt in an open wound. Do you know how that feels, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, gasping and unable to fully concentrate on Voldemort's words. His stomach began to roil, and he thought he might be sick. If not for two men holding his arms, he'd be on his knees.

At last removing his finger from Harry's cut, Voldemort flicked his wand, and Harry felt a stinging sensation inside the wound. Soon his entire arm burned with painful intensity. Tears sprung to Harry's eyes as he gasped, fighting the pain.

"It's a raw burning, is it not?" Voldemort asked, sweeping away to address Immobilized-Ginny, describing the sensation to her. "It distracts you and leaves you unable to focus on anything else…anything more important, perhaps, like world-wide dominion. That is what your lover's existence has become to me."

Harry bit down on the inside of his cheeks, trying to hold onto consciousness, feeling sweat drip into his eyes. His back was drenched, and his legs began to shake. He had to find a way to end this now.

"You'll have no need of your wand," Voldemort said, running his finger along her chin, smearing Harry's blood on her face. "I think it's time I put a stop to his interference…permanently." He turned to Harry; "Avada—"

"No!" Ginny yelled, hitting Voldemort's wand away with a desperate lunge, breaking the spell holding her stiff with a spark. Voldemort flung her back to Death Eaters, three of whom held her arms and shoulders, holding her back as she fought. A young woman about Ginny's age grabbed the wand, kissing it lightly before placing it in the Dark Lord's awaiting hand.

"What are you waiting on then? Go on and do it, if you can," Harry said, snarling. He felt the grips on his arms loosen, as though the Malfoys intended to jump away from the Killing Curse the anticipated. "You haven't had much luck yet."

Voldemort's flat nostrils flared, his eyes glowing. Harry felt reckless. If he could enrage Voldemort enough for him to lose control and simply attempt to kill Harry now, Ginny could use the resulting chaos to get away. Or perhaps the Order would arrive—as unlikely as that was since Harry abandoned Dumbledore. He'd run out of other options.

"Perhaps a loved one could do a better job," Voldemort offered with a laugh. "Imperio!" he cried, taking hold of Ginny and making her walk forward, before handing her a wand of a Death Eater, who offered it at his beckon.

"Avada—" Ginny began, raising the wand, her hand shaking as though two puppeteers fought over control.

"Ginny, no! It's me, it's Harry!" he shouted, trying to stop her from saying the words that would lead to his death, but her moment of distraction was enough. The Malfoys pulled back, and Harry looked over at Voldemort

Voldemort's Bludgeoning Curse hit him in the chest and forced him back several meters, gasping for breath. He sat on floor, shaking his head to try and clear it. He spat out some blood and struggled to rise on his shaking legs while Voldemort watched him with sadistic amusement, like a cat toying with a mouse before he killed it. Another Bludgeoning Curse caused him to lie on the floor, bruised and battered.

"You are an idiot, Harry, and she is your greatest mistake," he began. Ginny's eyes grew less and less blank with each passing word. Harry prayed she'd break the Curse and distract Voldemort… but not die, not die…

"You never should have let a woman get to you, regardless of how attracted you are to her. _She_ is a weakness. Women are to be used to meet your needs and discarded. I'd thought better of you, but you're obviously no smarter than your father. He allowed his base needs to cloud his judgement concerning a woman, as well," Voldemort said, sneering.

"You coward!" Ginny raged, fully free of the Imperius. She'd drawn herself up to her full height and hissed like a fierce tigress "You like to think you're this great powerful wizard…but you're not. You're weak and loathsome. What? You needed to prove your greatness all those years ago by attacking a defenseless baby?"

Voldemort was incensed by Ginny's disdain, and Harry hoped her diversion would allow him enough time to gather his magic to fire off the final curse of the battle. "I am Lord Voldemort. I am the strongest wizard to ever live."

"Lily Potter was ten times stronger than you," Ginny said, crossing her arms defiantly. "She wasn't afraid of you. She stood up to you. She defended her child, her FIFTEEN MONTH OLD child against you, and she beat you. She had more power than you could ever hope to have."

"And I destroyed her," Voldemort snarled. "She couldn't manage to save her own life against me."

"It wasn't her own life that she was trying to save – it was her baby's – because he meant more to her than anything else ever could, her own life included. And you can never know the power behind that love," Ginny said smugly.

"SILENCE!" Voldemort shouted. "You will learn your proper place and to kneel before me in submission before I kill you, foolish girl."

Ginny lifted her chin in the air and spat.

Harry's scar flared with pain from Voldemort's surge of hatred. He clamped a hand to it as he silently cheered for his girlfriend. She refused to be cowed by this bully, and Harry wouldn't be, either.

Voldemort's cold eyes locked on Ginny's, and he took a step towards her, raising his wand.

"No!" Harry rolled over to Voldemort quickly and physically grabbed the hem of Voldemort's robe. He gave a strong tug, causing Voldemort to stumble; he had to fight to keep his balance. Harry aimed his wand and fired a powerful cutting curse that tore into the side of Voldemort's leg, making him howl with pain. Blood gushed from the wound, pooling on the floor.

He climbed to his feet, determined to end the battle for once and all. Voldemort glared up at him and Harry cast the Curse that had ruined so many lives, taken nameless others, and caused Harry more pain than any torture in the world ever could.

"Avada Kedavra."

* * *

HA! Worth the wait? The atrociously long wait that I feel terrible for? Pft. Consider it payback for all you who didn't review. As for those who have reviewed, and those who assisted me when I needed a helping hand, namely Dragonzar, high five! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i have writing it... I'll try to write an epilogue, if you guys want.


	25. Chapter 25: Epilogue

**WARNING!: Sex is not directly mentioned in the below chapter, however, it is suggested.**

* * *

_ I apologise for the shortness._

* * *

(Disclaimer: I don't own or claim any part of the HP universe, it belongs to Miss JK Rowling, and her publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury, Penguin and Scholastic, along with their respective shareholders and branch/mother companies.)

* * *

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter!"

"Yes, well done!"

"Harry, over here!"

"Look here, smile for the picture!"

"Way to save 'em, Potter!"

"Is it true you're marrying the Weasley girl?"

Harry Potter, now eighteen, weaved his way through the crowd, pulling Ginny behind him. He didn't look at any of the cameras, or reporters, simply trying to get home after their date.

Even a year later, Harry had to put up with reporters in every public place he went. He and his friends had taken to going out to Muggle places, where reporters from the Prophet and other magical newspapers hid.

"I think it was worse today," Ginny said a hour later, as they finally reached their flat.

"I agree," Harry said, turning his head to look at her with his lone eye. "Are Ron and Hermione back yet?"

The couple shared a large flat with their friends, and the arrangement worked splendidly. Harry, Ron and Hermione-and Ginny for that matter-had been through a lot of terrible things. None of them felt they could manage to be alone, even a flat with two seemed too empty, like the others weren't there.

Four in a flat felt crowded, homey. Peaceful, even if people were tearing in and out at odd hours, Ron with his Auror training, Hermione with her Healing classes, Ginny, who passed her NEWTs early using Paz and Etienne's training, with practice with the Harpies. Harry awaited his return to Hogwarts, as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"I don't think so," Ginny answered, peeking into the empty kitchen and open door of the loo and her brother's bedroom. "Though I expect they'll be back late."

"Why do you reckon?"

"Hermione dragged me through a dozen jewelers shoppes yesterday, looking at engagement rings. Then she said she was taking Ron to Hell's Cavern, which is his favourite restaurant."

"Whoa! They're getting engaged?!" Harry demanded, shocked. Sure, they'd been together for quite a while, and had lived together since the past March, but... It seemed soon. Too soon. He hoped Ginny didn't get any ideas. He wanted to save marriage for when he was a decent age, twenty or twenty five, though maybe that was his Muggle upbringing talking; most wizards married fresh out of school, seventh-year level, or after-post graduate degrees.

He'd been to a total of five weddings that year alone, and it was only June. He thought because wizards lived an average of two hundred years, and stayed physically twenty till fifty, that they would take marriage slower, as they did careers.

He was mistaken, and it seemed Hermione knew it.

"Unless Ron says no," Ginny explained with a laugh. _As if,_ Harry thought. They both knew Ron wouldn't dare, or want to. "So I think we have the flat to ourselves."

"Oh, do we now?" Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow in response to her sensual purr. "And what would we, two teens, want to do with time alone?"

"I'm not sure," she murmured, playing along, backing towards the bedroom as he followed her. "Perhaps we should try out our new, luscious mattress and see what comes to mind?"

"Sounds good," he agreed, capturing her mouth and falling onto the bed.

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed. NOW! Here is me shamelessly plugging my newest story,_ Dear Harry_, for all of you:_

_ Dear Harry,_

_ This is Hermione. I'm just checking up on you; while I know you can take care of yourself, I know your aunt and uncle aren't exactly endearing. _

_I want to ask you about your uncle's behaviour at the train station. When we met him outside the platform, he told you to quit consorting with the freaks and get in the car, before turning around and leaving. Why did he call us freaks, Harry? Is it because we're magic? Does he treat you like that?_

_When you first came to Hogwarts, I remember, on the train, you had this huge bruise across your face that took a fortnight to fade. With your uncle's behaviour and your lack of enthusiasm over the past approaches of summer holidays, I've concluded the bruises are from your uncle. _

_Harry, you need to tell someone about this! I know you're almost sixteen, but you need to tell Professor Dumbledore, or at the very least McGonagall._

_How are you doing? I know you must miss Sirius, but you know it isn't your fault, don't you? Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort killed him, not you._

_I'm at my parents' house in London, and if you give me your Muggle address, I can come and take you to a County Fair near my grandparents' house. I'd get you on 10 July, and Ron might meet us there. _

_Do let me know, and do something about your uncle,_

_ Your friend,_

_Hermione Granger_

T_he story, punctuated by a series of letters, is NOT focused on Harry's (maybe) abuse at the Dursleys, but his defeat of Voldemort. The final defeat is not planned, as it was for Captured, so I'm open to suggestions, though I may not utilize any. A "friend of mine" also complained via email about grammatical errors in my writing, and I just want to say to him, English is not my first language, Greek is, so lighten up! Thank you all again for reading._


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